Find You
by Nyx6
Summary: When something happens to Dean during his 2014 feud with Wyatt, it is down to his anxiety prone wife Lauren (and Roman) to try and put things right in a role reversal she's not really used to. Throw in the pair of them trying to move house and an old enemy who can't quite decide where he stands and it looks like you have yourselves a story! Part of the 'Who Do You Love' series.
1. Oh My God We're Back Again

**I think the title of this chapter says it all! Dean and Lauren are back, with a bit of a twist for this story. **

**Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**Oh My God We're Back Again**

Jack Swagger was still being rolled from the canvas like a sack of potatoes when the cameras came back, forcing us to grin like a bunch of crazy people, as in front of us a referee tried to grab his unitard, yet somehow managed to miss Jack completely so that he rolled beneath the ropes and hit the floor face first.

Ouch.

In response Michael Cole cleared his throat two seats away from me and I forced my screwed up wince down and then beamed into the lens like I was hosting the live grand finale of _The Bachelor_, or was stood on the stage at the end of _Miss World_.

It was the first time I'd been allowed to do a link on live pay per view and I was totally committed to not messing it up.

From somewhere on the floor Jack Swagger groaned loudly and so I blurted my lines over him,

"Uh, welcome back folks, to what has been an action packed evening of wrestling. Wouldn't you agree King?"

"Oh, absolutely I would," Jerry 'The King' Lawler chuckled back heartily, which seemed to be his standard reaction to _everything_. Performer falls head first off a cage? Nervous chuckle. Powerbomb through the announce desk? Surprised chuckle and a _whoa_. Briefly I wondered if he chuckled in the bedroom and then decided it was probably best _not_ to know.

"Uh, John?" I ploughed on, "Any thoughts on this evening?"

John Bradshaw Layfield sucked in a long breath, like I had asked him for a plan on the third world debt problem, or a breakdown of what had happened in the Suez Canal. In front of me my newly promoted backstage friend Matty — who was working as floor producer for the first time that night — whirled his finger in a _hurry up_ motion as somebody shouted in his headset.

Probably Vince.

"Well now, _I_ would say — ,"

"Thank you John," I interrupted, smiling so hard I thought my cheeks might ping off and trying to ignore the instantaneous Texan death glare that shot back my way.

JBL and I had never been friends. Which was probably because he was a hardened wrestling veteran who had been in the business since the beginning of time, while I was a small town girl from Wisconsin who had sort of _blundered_ into it fifteen months before. _Plus_ he was a stooge for The Authority and my father, not to mention my evil stepmother; the Wicked Witch of the Steph. While _I_ stood for truth and justice and my husband.

But mostly my husband. Speaking of which,

"Still to come tonight, a tables, ladders and chairs match between the hunkalicious Dean Ambrose and," I wrinkled my nose, "Bray Wyatt, in what promises to be the main event of a lifetime. So, let's remind ourselves how these two hot gere."

Wait, what?

My face dropped a mile as I muddled my words up. On live television. In front of thousands of fans. _Millions_ even, by the time it hit YouTube and —

Oh god. Oh god.

"And off to VT," Matty chirped brightly as the titantron behind us began to play a super loud recap of events, which included the night Bray had crashed the Hell in a Cell match _and_ him _driving_ Dean headfirst into a backstage wall.

Ugh.

"Great job sweetie," Matt double thumbs upped me, which didn't much help.

"I said _hot_ _gere_," I wailed, dropping my head into my hands in embarrassment, "I meant to say _got here_. But I said _hot_ _gere _instead."

"Which I'm sure no one noticed," Michael Cole offered kindly.

"They will once I tweet it," JBL pulled out his phone and in response I slammed my head down on the desktop to try and knock out the memory,

"Oh god. Kill me now."

Not that I _actually_ wanted to die though. Because in spite of the _hot_ _gere_ thing, my life was going pretty well, given that I was married to the hottest man ever, had a dog, a career and a brand new marital home. Which we were going to move into in six days and counting and so to say I was excited was an understatement and _then_ some. We just had to get through the match with Bray Wyatt and our life would be perfect. Or, you know, near _enough_.

An electric guitar cord blasted out suddenly and I quickly shot upright rubbing my head as fourteen thousand people in the Quicken Loans arena went wild with excitement. Although they weren't the only ones,

"And here we go," Michael Cole bellowed hoarsely, "Tables, ladders, chairs and this guy,"

I sucked in a breath as my husband strode out, wearing a black sleeveless hoodie with his initials and holding a ladder like he was carrying a tote. There were plenty of ladders set up for them anyway — on the ramp, by the barriers and right the way around the ring — but clearly the ladder he was bringing was special, or lined with razor blades or maybe poisonous frogs. His fists were taped up and he was looking wild and angry. Which I _really_ liked.

Ooh. Was it hot or was it me?

"Dean Ambrose, the Lunatic Fringe," Cole continued as my husband manhandled his ladder through the ropes, "Whose problems with Bray Wyatt date right back to his Shield days, when Lauren was kidnapped by the Wyatt Family."

"_Ugh_. Thanks for reminding me," I winced in response to him. Because needless to say that had _not_ been much fun. You know, what with all of the pulsating terror and the wanting to go home and the crying for Dean.

Back up in the ring the man himself stripped off his hoodie and then tossed it towards me with a shit eating grin, like a world famous rocker on stage at the Garden throwing his moistened sweat rag to a hysterical fan. I stuck out my tongue but then smothered a giggle as the hoodie missed me completely and hit JBL in the face.

"What in the world — ,"

"Oops, here let me get that" I chirped back brightly as I unwound it from his head before choosing to slip it on over my own dress. Which wasn't great for impartiality. But who cared?

Go Dean.

The lights in the arena went dark again suddenly and I shivered on instinct as Bray's music kicked, followed by the man himself and his lantern. Because _god_, what _was_ it with him and that lamp? The arena around us was lit up with cell lights, which would almost have been pretty if it hadn't been so weird.

Lawler chuckled, because of _course_ he chuckled.

"Would you look at this? Man oh man, now _that's_ a sight."

"Bray Wyatt likes to call them his fireflies," Cole offered, as the hillbilly slowly picked his way down the ramp and was it too much to hope he would fall in the darkness and knock himself out on a ladder? Apparently yes, since he made it in one piece and then stood beneath the ring ropes with the lantern light swaying. Which wasn't at all creepy. Much.

"Bray Wyatt has of course been playing mind games with Dean Ambrose," Cole was filling in for the audience back home, "Including mentions of Dean's troubled childhood. Lauren, can you tell us a little more about that?"

Um, no?

Up in the ring through the flickering half light, I could see Dean pacing and rattling the ropes. Which he would probably have snapped in half if he'd heard our conversation, since Dean _hated_ discussing his past with _anyone_. Let alone with Michael Cole and a bunch of strangers. I decided to answer the best way I knew how, with poise and eloquence and total mastery of diction.

No, only kidding. I rambled instead,

"Uh, well, I mean, I wouldn't say it was _troubled_. More like, um, kind of _lacking_ at times? And anyway, when you think about it, what even _is_ normal? Because I believe it was Vincent Van Gogh who once said, that normality — ,"

"Oh good _lord_," JBL barked out suddenly. Although luckily it wasn't directed at me. Or at least not entirely. Because while I had been rambling, the arena lights had come blaring back on and Dean had decided to kickstart the match up by throwing a ladder directly at Bray. As in _directly_ at Bray. Right over the ring ropes. Jerry Lawler even let out a scream,

"Oh my god."

It must have been bad if he didn't even chuckle. Or, wait. No. _Good_. Hurting Bray was very good.

As the heavy metal weapon came down on his forehead, the hillbilly crumpled like a heap of wet rags and for a second I figured the whole thing was over. Good show everybody. Ring the bell. Dean had won. Except, because Bray was Bray and _not human_, he sat up again suddenly.

I slapped the desk,

"Oh come _on_."

"Dean Ambrose wasting no time in this match up," Cole offered, in a mastery of understatement as Dean slid beneath the ropes and then grabbed Bray up by his dank looking follicles before throwing him headfirst into _another_ ladder.

_Oof._

"Ho now, _that's_ more like it, let's get this match started," JBL chirped, bouncing up and down in his seat. Not so much rooting for Bray _or_ my husband, but just pleased there was a fight, "Hit him, hit him again."

Michael ignored him, like I suddenly wished _I_ could.

"Now we've already seen what these two men can do. So imagine what will happen in a tables, ladders and chairs match."

"Um, we _know_ what will happen," I pointed out, "Dean will win."

And then he would take me back home to our lake house. Or what _would_ be our lake house when we finally got the keys, where the two of us and our lovable rescue dog Boomer would live happily ever after. Not that I _said_ that of course.

_Smack_.

Bray caught Dean with a slap to the cheekbone and all four of us winced. Well, _three_ of us did. Jerry Lawler meanwhile. Yep you guessed it. Chuckled.

"Man oh man. I felt that. Ho ho."

In response Dean shoved Bray up under the ring ropes, which probably _should_ have been the start of the match. Except that Bray slithered over the canvas like an inchworm and then dropped down in front of us, which was _way_ too close.

Crap.

"Whoa, look out," Lawler murmured — no chuckle — as Bray cracked his neck and then suddenly straightened up. His cold hard eyes narrowed instantly towards me and I squeaked in alarm and grabbed hold of JBL. Which went about as well as I could have expected,

"Hey now. I _just_ had this suit dry cleaned."

Bray smirked in at me over the desktop and it made me shudder. I _hated_ him being so close. Because even though he no longer had Rowan or Harper, who he had thankfully 'set free' a few months before, he was still a big scary hillbilly nutbag, with bad breath and no social skills who I would never _ever_ trust. He chuckled. Oh great. Lawler Syndrome was catching

"I'm sorry Little Bird, but this ain't about you. Bray has his eyes on a bigger prize this time."

I frowned at him.

Huh? What the hell did _that_ mean?

"Bray Wyatt at ringside intimidating Lauren," Michael Cole was explaining for the viewers at home, "Who as you may know is the wife of Dean Ambrose and _oh my god_."

He suddenly slammed back in his chair as a body came sailing through the ring ropes towards us. A handsome looking body in a black DA tank and a pair of stretch jeans that clung in _all_ the right places. Like the thighs and the ass and his —

"_Suicide dive_ ."

Hmm.

Not _quite_ the word I would have used to describe it, but okay then. The impact hit Bray like a train and propelled him gut forwards into the announce desk, since for an athlete, Bray Wyatt was surprisingly round. Oh and also surprisingly creepy, which we had already covered.

"Dean Ambrose," Cole yelled, nearly breathless from all the excitement, "Dean Ambrose launching himself through the ropes, to try and save his wife from the clutches of Wyatt."

Um, dramatic much?

"Hey," Dean rasped, "You okay?"

I sucked in a breath and then nodded,

"Yep, think so. You?"

In response he leaned over the desk, then cupped the back of my head and hauled me closer for a sudden, unannounced and very wet kiss. Or make that a sudden, unannounced and very _hot_ kiss. Because holy crap it was. Like at the end of an action film, when the hero is all sweaty and covered in gunsmoke. Which Dean was. Uh, _sweaty_ I mean, not the gunsmoke part.

Cole coughed hoarsely,

"Live TV Lauren."

Oh, right. Good point.

I pulled back and then ran my tongue over my bottom lip hungrily, as my husband spun around like the smooch was old news and got back to the business of pummelling. Because had I mentioned that my job could be crazy sometimes?

I mean, I _had_ kind of mentioned that part, hadn't I?

Dean meanwhile was busy climbing onto the desk, which on the _plus_ side gave me a near perfect view of his tushy, but on the _down_ side nearly flattened JBL's precious hat. Although, wait a second. Was that _really_ a down side? Probably not.

"Hey, be careful," he squawked, snatching it back as Dean planted his boot down and then cradling it to his bosom like a mother with a child.

"You know," I chirped brightly, "You two make a _lovely_ couple. Have you thought about children?"

He glared at me.

Guess not.

From up on the desktop Dean pointed to the audience and then down to Wyatt. The whole place went wild. Well, all except for me who knew what was coming and wasn't happy about it.

"Dean, _no_," I shouted out, totally forgetting the live microphone in front of me as my husband took flight off the desk like a swan. Or something more manly — like a hawk or buzzard — and knocked Bray over the barricade into the crowd.

"Whoa," Jerry Lawler, do I _need _to say chuckled, twisting in his chair to try and follow the fight, as the action disappeared off into the fan base where someone had set yet _another_ ladder up. Because seriously, did we have some sort of deal with Home Depot? I mean where did they even _come_ from? Did Vince keep them in his shed?

"This match now spilling out into the WWE Universe."

The WWE Universe. I hated that term, since it sounded like Vince thought he owned a whole cosmos. Which he probably did. Like some kind of Greek god.

Back with the match Dean jumped off a set piece, left behind from the earlier TLC kickoff show and then followed as Bray scrambled back over the barricade, looking wide eyed and rattled which, I won't lie, felt good.

"Bray Wyatt has _not_ been able to get into this match up," Michael Cole commented, speaking through a wince as Dean drove the hillbilly into the ringpost and then hit him with a chair, "It's been all Ambrose so far."

"Well," I shrugged, "Dean's got a lot to pay him back for. I mean, like Bray nearly breaking his neck and the fact that he insists on white pants after Labor Day."

All three of my colleagues looked round at me.

"What?"

Reedy chants of _this is awesome_ were lifting around us, which promptly doubled as my husband pulled some kendo sticks out and then rolled back into the ring to face Wyatt, who was staring right back at him.

JBL shook his head,

"You know, I'm not sure which one of these guys is crazier. The Eater of the Words or the Lunatic Fringe."

I gaped,

"Um, exsqueeze me? For your information my husband is _not_ crazy. Because what he _happens_ to be is clever and completely in control."

Or at least he _had_ been right up until that second. Because as Bray moved he suddenly brought the kendo stick down. Again and again and again like a sadist or, annoyingly, a crazy person.

JBL smirked,

"You were saying?"

"Ambrose up on the second rope," Cole continued, cutting smoothly through our bickering like he nearly always did and had gotten pretty good at in our six months as an announce team, "_Leg drop with a chair right on top of Wyatt's face_."

"Oh man," Jerry Lawler chipped in with his customary chuckle, which yep, he _definitely_ did in the bedroom as well.

Dean was trying to climb back up the ringpost, but Bray got there first and gave him a shove. _Backwards_, I should say. Bray gave him a shove _backwards_ right through a waiting table. What was _that_ doing there? Michael Cole meanwhile had some sort of breakdown,

"Dean Ambrose through a table, Dean Ambrose through a table, Dean Ambrose through a table."

I wailed into my hands,

"_No_."

"Huh. I take it all back. He knows _exactly_ what he's doing," JBL chirped like an asshole to my left, as Bray Wyatt swung like a chimp through the ring ropes and threw his hands out,

"You didn't listen Little Bird. And now this is what you get. You didn't listen and now look what's happening."

He was bellowing so loudly he didn't need a microphone to put his point across. I mean, whatever his point _was_, since as usual he was speaking _Brayese_ and not English. I shrank down a little and then glanced over to Dean, who was still lying flat on his back and not moving as Bray stamped across and hauled him up by his hair, which was one of the things that most surprised me about wrestling. Because for a masculine sport there was a _lot_ of pulling hair. Slamming him backwards _again_, into the barricade Bray rolled Dean up into the ring and my stomach flipped over as the blue eyes flashed over me with no recognition.

_Come on, come on_ _Dean_.

Bray hooked his leg and the referee slid in,

One, two —

Nope.

"Kickout at two," Cole filled in, for those who had nipped out to go to the bathroom and over the top of my happy squeak,

"_Yes_."

Although my smile promptly faded as Bray picked up the kendo and then whirled it around like a majorette.

"Oh look out," Lawler barked as I buried my head in my fingers, which blocked out the sight but not the sound of it.

_Whack_.

"Urgh."

The noise of Dean yelling was horrific and not for the first time I questioned my career, since who else had to sit fifteen feet from the action while the person they loved most in the whole world was attacked? Maybe I could get a nice job in a library or at a store that sold yarn? Because that would have been better, right?

"Bet Dean Ambrose is regretting that kendo stick," JBL snorted. I glared sideways through my hands, then hesitantly winced back up at the match again as Bray drove Dean nearly eyeball first into the stick.

In response I _may_ have screamed just a little bit. Or, okay, a lot actually, but then so did Cole.

"_Oh my god_."

Bray Wyatt got down on his knees and spread his arms wide,

"You can't beat me Ambrose."

"Can Dean see?" I squeaked, as my husband leaned over the ropes and pawed his eyeball. My happy little vision of our future life was fading fast and being replaced with us in our new house and Dean in an eyepatch, like some wrestler pirate spouse.

Bray hooked him back in a sneaky little roll up, but he kicked out at two.

"Come on Dean," I yelled, totally forgetting that I was meant to be impartial as Bray ran him over with a step ladder from behind. On special offer at Home Depot, only nine ninety five folks.

Cole winced,

"Bray Wyatt just taking his time as Dean Ambrose struggles to get back in this match up."

"He's, um, just having a breather," I lied as Bray set said step ladder up in one corner and then whipped Dean right into it. JBL snorted,

"Sure."

I could see Dean looked groggy, which was kind of a problem since Bray was gearing up to plough into him again. Except _bodily_ this time which would have squashed him like a pancake, or a really cute bug.

I launched up suddenly,

"Dean, _move_."

Realistically, given the noise in the arena, which was a mixture of _this is awesome _and _we want more chairs_, my husband shouldn't have been able to hear me. But we had watched a documentary a few nights before when we'd been stuck in a crummy and very grubby motel room about how Emperor penguins could pick their chicks out a flock, in spite of all the other baby birds that were calling. Which I guessed was what happened between me and Dean, since he looked up through the hazy baby blues I loved so much and then suddenly threw himself off to one side, as Bray Wyatt who'd been charging like a gigantic steam train, hammered into the empty ringpost and nearly knocked himself out.

JBL gaped as I sat back down next to him,

"Are you _allowed_ to do that?"

"Uh, sure," I shrugged vaguely, knowing the answer to that was a _no_ and in hindsight it was probably a really really _good_ thing that I didn't have an earpiece connected to Vince.

Staggering up Dean caught Bray in the ring ropes and then leg dropped him down right onto a chair,

"Oh this is it this time guys, I can feel it," Lawler beamed broadly as Dean hooked up Bray's leg.

One, two —

The crowd were all counting with it, almost willing the knockout finish.

"And Wyatt kicks at two."

_Damn_.

"Ugh, stay down you big ugly hillbilly," I huffed in frustration as my husband slapped his own face and began to hype himself up the only way he knew how to. With physical violence.

"Oh man, look at this," Lawler squeaked with a side order of chuckle, "Seems like Ambrose is getting pumped up."

"Looking for Dirty Deeds," Cole shouted excitably, as Dean hooked Bray up under the arms and as the crowd started leaping and jumping like crazy.

"Here it comes," JBL yelled. _Wrongly_ as it turned out, since instead Bray spun and tipped Dean over backwards before kissing his head.

_Uh oh._

"Sister Abigail — ,"

Dean wiggled out and then tried to bounce off the ropes for momentum. But Bray saw it coming.

"_Clothesline_," Michael Cole barked, as the big hillbilly levered back a big vicious forearm and then knocked Dean into almost into a different time zone, "Oh my god. That shot nearly took Dean Ambrose's _head_ off."

"_No_," I wailed over him, "Get up. _Please_ get up. Because we still need to move into our new house by the lakeside and Boomer needs his daddy and — ,"

Dean kicked out at three, which _I_ liked to think was all down to my pleading. You know, on account of the whole _Emperor penguin _thing. Wearily he rolled himself out beneath the ring ropes as Jerry Lawler chuckled,

"How in the world is he doing this?"

"Um, because he's awesome?" I offered back helpfully, "Oh _and_ handsome. Don't forget about that."

"God forbid," JBL drawled sarcastically, as Bray slithered after to try and prod Dean back in, since pinfalls for this match only counted _on_ the canvas. Dean countered with a lariat.

_Boom_.

I had never been more proud.

"Oh yeah," I crooned, pumping my fists in a circle and then excitedly poking JBL on the arm, "Awesome _and_ handsome, see? What did I tell you?"

"Quit touching me damn it," he snapped in response, before casting around for some help, "Hey, security."

From the end of the desk Lawler chuckled at us both. Only this time I didn't really much seem to mind it and besides which, it was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as Dean dragged a ladder from the middle of the rampway and wait, _what_?

I blinked,

"Guys, what's going on?"

"Bray Wyatt out cold and at Ambrose's mercy," Michael Cole offered by way of a response, partly for me but probably mostly for the viewers who were watching at home.

Huh? I tried to squint through the ropes and yep, sure enough, there he was. Bray Wyatt. Laid flat out on a table with his stomach heaving up and down, as Dean dragged the ladder in closer towards him and —

_Uh oh._

"Now what's that lunatic husband of yours doing?" JBL drawled with a sneer in my direction.

"He's _not — _," I started before tapering off, as my husband started hauling his broken body up the ladder rungs. Oh, who was I kidding? Once up at the top, he paused for a second and then glanced across the ring at me. I shook my head _no_, which I figured he would get, what with us being Emperor penguins, or King penguins — oh, what the hell — I would even have settled for Queen. Except no, because instead he simply grinned like an idiot and then bit on his tongue tip which made his dimples pop out and turned me into a giggling schoolgirl.

"Dean Ambrose making his way to the uppermost rung," Michael Cole panted, almost _breathless_ with excitement. Which on the plus side made one of us.

Okay, maybe two.

"Ho, ho, ho, I already know this is _not_ going to be pretty," Lawler chuckled as Dean pumped his fists in one last showboat for the keenly watching audience and then bent his knees for his big flying jump. Or what _would_ have been his big flying jump anyway, had the lights not gone out and plunged the whole place into dark, which made my poor heart race nearly a mile a minute and my brain explode in terror.

_Oh god, oh god_.

Because the _last_ time I had been near a ring with Bray Wyatt and the lights had gone out, I had almost been choked, oh and had my arm wrenched from my socket _and_ been kidnapped. Was he coming for me again? Had his whole weird angle with Dean been to get to me?

In my panic I scrambled into JBL's lap and then clung round his neck like a terrified monkey as he spluttered into my blouse folds,

"What in the _world_ — ,"

I was almost positive Bray was lurking behind us. But when the lights snapped back on he was nowhere to be found.

I blinked,

"Oh."

"God damn it, you're as crazy as your husband," JBL grunted, depositing me off to one side and then desperately trying to straighten his suit out.

"Uh, speaking of which," Lawler chuckled in response, but _nervous_ chuckled, like something had happened, "Where exactly _is_ Dean and more to the point where's Wyatt?"

Huh?

My head sprang up at once and I blinked towards the rampway, where my husband and his nemesis had been moments before and where the table and the pride of Home Depot both _still_ were, but where Bray and Dean were not.

They were nowhere.

Dean was gone.

* * *

**See you next Thursday...**


	2. Already Gone

**Lots of characters in this chapter. Some of them good, some of them, well, not so much!**

**Minnie1015, Wow, you were straight in with the review this time! I know, I've missed them too. Lauren and Dean are like putting on a comfy old sweater, well, except for all the cliffhangers (you're welcome!)**

**Mandy, Aww, thank you and I'm so glad you're happy to have them back, including Dean's craziness and kisses! We're all good there thanks, hope you're doing okay too and keeping your chin up. Big hugs.**

**sWeEtNeVeRmOrE120, Yay! Welcome to the party. My Dean and Lauren stories might be my favourite too!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I know! I mean, he's makes a good PI, but an even better wrestler! I've missed writing him as a wrestler too. Expect lots of crazy in this story (as ever!)**

**Wolfgirl2013, Uh oh is right. Dean is definitely in trouble!**

**Skovko, When Bray Wyatt's involved, who really ever knows?!**

**Samcoo 12, Hmm, maybe, although Lauren might need to call on some help first. But I figured it was about time I shook things up!**

**Wrestlingfanforever, Thank you! As for the Police AU stories, I do have something in mind involving eyesight, but it just might not involve the patch (might have to do a pirate story for that, lol!)**

**XwwecoyoteX, Haha, oops, sorry! Hope you didn't worry about Dean too much this last week? If you did, you're in the same boat as Lauren, even though in her world it's only been a second (I'm so mean!)**

**HannonsPen, Hmm, well, there might be a cameo with Lauren's best friend (I've missed her too) and as for the cliffhanger, well, what can I say? I have a reputation to maintain (lol!)**

**xXBalorBabeXx, That's the million dollar question (and the one Lauren is asking too).**

**Here's our girl...**

* * *

**Already Gone**

For about half a minute or possibly longer — or maybe even _less_ because who the hell knew? I simply sat there and blinked at the rampway as if my husband and Bray Wyatt might suddenly pop up, or emerge from a black hole up in the sky box, or up on the titantron or _anywhere_.

But, nope. Instead there was nothing. They weren't there. They weren't _anywhere_, which JBL expressed with a frown.

"Hey, where'd they go?"

"Uh — ,"

Michael Cole was flipping through the papers on the desktop, which we were handed before the show with useful phrases and notes, but with one hand clamped down over his earpiece, which was his link to the back,

"Uh, and there you have it folks," he spluttered eventually, looking up at the camera as Matty and the team came charging back in, and wait, was he trying to wrap up the pay per view?

"Extraordinary scenes here in Cleveland tonight, with the return of Roman Reigns and a win for John Cena as we build to the Royal Rumble in less than a month."

Oh god. He _was_. He was rounding the show up, as if Dean _hadn't_ disappeared in a hillbilly puff of smoke. I gaped at Matt who shrugged back, looking clueless and then I started to panic.

Well, I mean, panic _more_. Because where had they gone and why was no one else freaking?

"Dean?"

Cole spoke over me,

"And tune in tomorrow night, when we'll have all of the fallout from what happened here in Cleveland on Monday Night Raw. We'll see you there — ,"

"Dean?"

"Goodnight."

He turned his head and then coughed at Jerry Lawler, who hastily copied him,

"Oh, uh, goodnight."

"Be safe out there folks," JBL followed after, sounding totally baffled.

I ignored it all,

"_Dean_?"

In the audience behind us and with nothing more happening, the crowd began to realize that something was wrong and the weird hushed silence they had sort of been keeping began to turn instead into whistles and boos. Not that I heard them. I couldn't hear _anything_ except the pounding of my heart in my eardrums.

"Dean?"

Ripping off my headphones as the camera light faded — which meant that we were finally, officially off air — I threw them down clumsily and then scrambled round the desk front to flip up the apron cover and bellow under the ring.

"Dean?"

I had no real idea what I expected to find there, but at the sight of more tables my poor thumping heart sank, to the point that had the Lost City of Z been hidden under there it would still have been a bummer.

"Where _is_ he?" I wailed, dropping my head into my hands and then sobbing. Only once, but I guess it must have sounded pretty bad, since someone came and took hold of my shoulders.

"Hey, come on sweetheart, let's get you to the back."

I had kind of assumed that my savior would be Matty, but when I looked up he was crouched to my side, biting his lip and looking heartbroken for me as Jerry Lawler helped me up. No chuckling this time, which now that he wasn't, I kind of _missed_ him doing, weirdly.

But not as much as I missed Dean.

"I don't get it," I blubbed, furiously wiping my face with my blouse cuff until Matt passed me a tissue, "Wh-where did they go?"

I had thought it had been bad when _I_ had been kidnapped, but being left behind was infinitely worse. Or okay, so not _worse_ but certainly just as horrific in its own special way.

"Do you think he's okay? Because what if Bray's taken him somewhere and is hurting him, or is feeding him to some crocodiles or — ,"

"Easy there, whoa," Lawler chuckled and yay, it was back again, strained sounding though it was. We were heading up the ramp, picking our way through the ominous ladders and past the bewildered and unhappy crowd, who were taking their frustration on the show's messed up ending out on anyone they could.

"This pay per view sucks."

"I want a refund."

"You call that finish?"

Jerry Lawler ignored them,

"Now you listen to me. That husband of yours is a natural brawler and one of the craziest guys I ever met, so if anyone can handle some one on one time with Wyatt, then it's the Lunatic Fringe, you hear me?"

I blinked,

"I guess."

"Good and besides, I bet Dean's back there in gorilla right now with not a scratch on him."

My heart leapt,

"Do you think?"

"I _know_," he grinned back at me, leading us right under the titantron and then flapping aside the curtain.

Backstage was a mess, post match towels for weary wrestlers to wipe their sweat on were scattered in Egyptian cotton clumps across the floor, alongside water bottles and set lists and papers. But they were _nothing_ compared to the panicky buzz and the number of people rushing around wearing headsets and crashing into each other like half crazed bumper cars.

Dean wasn't there though. Jerry Lawler had lied on that one, since the only wrestlers back there were Randy Orton and Seth, who were stood in a shadowy corner with Stephanie.

Who was _smirking_.

Ugh. Of _course_ she was. It was the only face she had, as if one day she'd been smirking and the wind had changed suddenly and stuck her like that. Half woman, half sneer. Lawler was trying to lead me right past her, probably to go and find the catering bar, but instead I lurched from his grasp with my fists clenched and then stamped in towards them,

"What have you done with him?" I snarled, trying super hard not to sound like I was crying, but failing because I was. I scrubbed a tear away.

Darn.

My stepmother smirked at me. Well, that is she smirked _wider_.

"Sorry Lauren, I'm not following. What have we done with who?"

"_Dean_," I hissed, "Because I know you must have had _something_ to do with it. Did you help Bray out of the building? Or did you tell him to pull this off? Because Dean always ruins your plans for world domination and _this_ time you wanted him out of the way?"

To my mind it was a perfectly reasonable assumption. Brilliant even. Like I was Hercule Poirot, cleverly unravelling the process of the killer at the climax of a story.

Stephanie laughed.

Or maybe not.

"So let me see if I've got your story straight here. _You_ think that in order to stop your crazy husband, who Seth Rollins _already_ beat at Hell in a Cell may I point out, we paid Bray Wyatt to start this whole feud up and interfere in his matches and throw him into steel steps, _just_ so he could spirit him off like a fairy at the TLC pay per view?"

I faltered,

"Um, yes?"

Because laid out like that it did sound a _little_ loopy. Stephanie looked to Randy and he snorted at her.

Dick.

In fact it was probably the closest I had _been_ to Randy Orton since the near shotgun wedding thing five months before, when Stephanie and Hunter had tricked me into a bridal gown — long story, don't ask — and then dragged me out to the ring in a cockamamie scheme to get me hitched to their favorite and therefore link me to The Evil Authority for good. Dean had saved me though.

_Dean_.

I sucked a breath in and then tried not to wail.

"Oh Lauren," Steph smiled, falsely though like almost everything about her, including her breasts. Mike drop. "You do make me laugh. But I suppose you must get your sense of humor from your father. Don't you think Hunter?"

Crap.

I tensed up at once and then actually flinched as my father stepped past me in a rush of musky aftershave I had once thought was nice and like I had stupidly thought that _he_ was before I'd realized he was evil. He moved closer to his wife and she smirked.

Quelle surprise.

"Steph, what's going on here?"

"Nothing sweetie," she simpered back at him, grazing her nails proprietorially across his chest, like I _needed_ reminding that when it came to the two of us he had definitely, _definitely_ picked her over me, "Lauren was just telling us a _fascinating_ story about us being part of what happened out there. Since _apparently_ we paid Wyatt to kidnap her husband."

She let out a trilly sounding, nasally laugh and behind her I noticed Seth look around uncomfortably. Kind of like he wished he was _anywhere_ else. Which made two of us. Although personally if I'd had a choice in it, then I would rather have been safely snuggled up with Dean, watching the rain fall on the lake from our new house, through the floor to ceiling windows and with the dog by our side. I scrubbed off another tear as my father shrugged back at me,

"Well now why would she think that?"

I blinked at him.

Uh, _hello_? Shotgun wedding not ringing any bells here? Or what about the time he had _kidnapped_ me? No?

Steph sneered,

"Because it's easier to blame _us_ for everyone leaving than thinking that just maybe it's something to do with _her_. I mean, think about it Lauren. First Rollins, now Ambrose. And of course your mother."

_Oh no she didn't._

I let out a screech and then lunged across the space so I could try and claw her eyes out — since _nobody_ mentioned my much missed mom — but which in turn made a whole bunch of_ other_ things happen. The first of which was Stephanie skittering back, clearly thrown off by my feral reaction, which I'm not going to lie, felt ridiculously good and the _second_ of which was Randy Orton stepping closer. Which was definitely _not_ good. Uh oh. He reached out his hands and, okay, _this_ was why I had never got into bitch fights, or so much as complained about bad restaurant food. Because it always wound up somehow causing _more_ trouble. Meek and mild. God damn it, I should have stayed meek and mild.

Except then the _third_ thing happened. A tattooed arm slung around me and pillowed me back against a muscular chest, which rumbled in cool honeyed tones from above me,

"Take it easy baby girl."

_Uce_.

I blew out a breath, which _also_ dislodged a few lingering teardrops,

"She said — she said,"

"I know," he nodded, "I heard."

Roman's voice sounded low and super dangerous and in the moment I could have cried I was so happy he was there. Well, I mean honestly I could have cried _anyway_. But I could _also_ have cried about the Big Dog being back, after nearly four months out with a hernia repair.

Randy meanwhile wasn't blinking, which was a good sign. But like Steph, he _was_ smirking,

"Is there a problem here Reigns?"

"You tell me," Roman rumbled back warningly, tucking me behind him as the pair stepped nose to nose. Or _nearly_ nose to nose, because Randy was like a building. Oh, and also super creepy too with his unfeeling eyes and his hard bony knuckles and with his weird obsession with me. Which I think was because I wasn't interested in him. _Or _in his stupid teeny tiny little wrestling trunks. Whereas_ most_ women, well, most women certainly _were_.

From somewhere behind us as the tension rose tenfold, my best work friend Matty moved in closer as well. Which was a really sweet gesture but essentially useless, since he was six foot six of nothing and about as camp as a row of tents. Although if nothing else then he could have probably bust loose a few dance moves to help us escape while Steph and Hunter were confused.

Clearing his throat Jerry Lawler laughed nervously,

"Hey, hey now. Whoa. Let's simmer things down."

Roman ignored him, In fact all of us ignored him. Or at least we _would_ have done, had another voice not then rung out and made us turn in perfect synchronization, like the gathered ensemble cast of a comedy film. Something by the Farrelly Brothers, I was thinking. Or maybe John Landis.

"Ah, Lauren, there you are."

Huh?

Vince McMahon was striding towards us with a jittery production assistant trotting by his side, holding a can of Pepsi with a straw sticking out of it for him to lean in and drink from.

Because yep, it was _definitely _a comedy film. Well, I mean _apart_ from my husband being kidnapped

Vince flung his arms out,

"Don't worry kid," grabbing my blouse front he pulled me towards him and then smushed me face first into a beige pinstripe suit, which smelt like moth balls and elderly man aftershave, like _Old Spice_ or possibly _Eau Sauvage For Men_, "I've got my best people out looking for Ambrose and they're not going to rest until this place has been checked. We're going to find him and bring him back. Alright kiddo?"

I pulled back and then gasped in relief.

_Sweet air_.

"Um, thank you."

"Anything for my favorite step grandchild," he beamed at me, "And besides, Ambrose is one of the company's top draws right now. So I can't exactly have him up and going missing."

"But he was kidnapped," I replied, because at least from my perspective, that seemed a pretty vital distinction to make.

Vince coughed mildly,

"Well that — uh — hardly matters. Nothing matters just so long as we find him and get him back home. Oh and of course bring Wyatt to justice."

From the darkness a worn out looking runner came pounding up to us. A college leaver probably with a communications degree and lifelong dreams of fame and fortune, but who instead spent his days picking up sweaty towels and running around arenas looking for wrestlers of the hillbilly variety. He let out a breathless puff and then whispered something to the producer-come-Pepsi-holder, who then whispered something to _Vince_ in turn and okay, forget the Farrelly brothers and John Landis . Because suddenly we were stood in a Tim Burton film.

Vince cleared his throat,

"Hmm. I see," he grunted, before turning back to me, "Well, it looks like they're not here. So I say we go off and sleep on it a little and then see if they turn up tomorrow night for Raw."

"_What_?" it was possible that my screech nearly blew out a window on a level above us it so was ungodly shrill, "But I thought you said they wouldn't rest until they found him."

Vince nodded,

"Which we will. Just not necessarily tonight and besides, for all _we_ know it could have been _Ambrose_ who was kidnapping _Bray_. Did you think about that?"

I mean, I _hadn't_. But only because it was the worst thought in the world. No way — no _way_ would Dean have planned on going missing and not have told me about it first. He would have _known_ I would freak out and more to the point he clearly hadn't told Roman, which didn't work either.

I gaped at him,

"But — but — ,"

Except our wackadoodle chairman had already moved onto new things. Like evidently his suddenly parched feeling throat,

"Where's that damn drink gone?" he snapped in frustration, nearly giving his poor assistant a shockable rhythm,

"Here sir."

Vince opened his mouth like a newborn baby blackbird and was rewarded with the tip of the all important Pepsi straw, which he sucked on for a second before re-buttoning his suit folds and striding off across gorilla beaming and shaking peoples' hands,

"Great show tonight folks."

I watched him go,

"But — but — ,"

That was really it? The search and rescue was over?

I stood gaping after him like a goldfish in a bowl. Or one of those super cute viral cat videos with an open mouthed kitty making an _oh my gosh_ face.

"But — but — but — ,"

Stephanie meanwhile — unsurprisingly — was smirking. In fact they _all_ were. Well all of them except Seth, who was stood looking mildly pissed off by the whole thing. Like we were making him late for a train he had to catch. Of course, a few months _before_ I would have said that it was awkwardness from having to pretend that he no longer cared, which would have fed my thesis about how he still loved us. Only that had been before _Hell in a Cell_, when he had let J and J _and_ Kane handicap the match up _and_ had tried to throw Dean off the cage _and_ had crawled in to claim the pin like a weasel when Bray Wyatt had shown up and slammed Dean down on his back.

Dean. Oh god.

I fought a sudden sob off but ended up sounding like a clucking hen instead and in response Roman put his big hands on my shoulders and then steered me away gently,

"Come on baby girl."

I went with him — numb and heavy footed like a child — away from Steph and Hunter and away from _everyone_ as I slap-slapped my feet out into the hallway where the backstage crew were already packing up and beginning to box up the pay per view rigging.

I wanted to scream at them.

_My husband is gone. What are you doing?_ _Why aren't you out looking? Go. Go._

"Roman," I murmured instead, "Dean is missing."

He winced at me softly,

"I know baby girl. Believe me, I know."

"So what are we going to do? We have to find him. We _have_ to," I spluttered, "Before Bray makes him one of them. Or feeds him to the fireflies or — ," here it came again, "Crocodiles or — ,"

"Alligators."

Huh?

I looked up with a frown. Roman was staring back at me with the edges of his lips curled, like he was trying not to smile, which he obviously was,

"Pretty sure it would be alligators instead of crocodiles baby girl. And besides, you know how much animals love uce. He'd have those suckers eating out of his hand in no time and then turn up with his very own crocodile army."

He winked at me and in response I snickered, because he had a point on that one.

I nodded,

"I guess,"

And besides which, it actually felt _good_ to be laughing and, oh wait, no it didn't.

I started to cry.

"Hey," Roman pulled me in closer towards him and I broke down and sobbed into the front of his vest, thrusting my fists up into the buckles and then holding on tight,

"Ro-Roman,"

"I know," he soothed, "I know baby girl and we're going to find him. I promise, okay?"

"But _how_?" I wailed, "I mean, where are we even supposed to start looking? Because it's Bray and he's crazy, so he could be _anywhere. _Like in a swamp or — or some top secret lair, like in James Bond. Except, you know, more creepy and weird."

Roman blinked,

"Uh,"

From somewhere behind us, Matt cleared his throat and then sweetly rubbed my back, which my mom used to do when I was crying about something. Because, oh yeah, Matt was there. I had forgotten about that. I mean, you know, what with the ongoing breakdown and everything.

"I'll go and round up the rest of the runners," he was saying to Roman as I blubbered and sniffed and generally wiped snot and teardrops across his ring gear, "Probably best to go over this whole place again. Make sure Vince's guys checked it out properly."

Roman nodded in gratitude,

"Thanks."

"And chin up, okay sweetie?" Matty chirped at me brightly, "We'll find him. I mean, if Dean doesn't find us first, because any minute now he's going to come around that corner and ask what's going on."

People kept saying that, and for a second or two I almost believed it.

Except —

Except he didn't.

The runners checked everywhere and so did Roman and me and a janitor named Ramon, who we managed to rope in to help look through the basement and the crawl space and the parking lot and the elevator shaft. But Vince was right and Matt was wrong. There was no Dean and no place left to look for him.

Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

* * *

**Next week Lauren gets an unlikely offer of help. See you there...**


	3. My Favorite Enemy

**Hi all, hope you're keeping safe with all the weirdness going on at the moment and I hope Dean and Lauren (or okay, not so much Dean) can help take your minds off everything for a bit.**

**Mandy, I'm so sorry to hear you're struggling at the moment. Remember, the rain doesn't last forever and it WILL get better for you. Hope Lauren can cheer you up a bit until then. Big hugs.**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Me too, but the thing with Steph is that you can never really trust her to play fair! **

**Rebel8954, Haha, I love that visual of Dean sitting sharing food with his new gator buddies! One would have to be named Seth of course and another one would be Tiny!**

**AngelsDestiny22, Aww, I'm glad that you're happy to see them back and yep, I figured it was about time for a role reversal after everything I've put Lauren through (not that this is a picnic for her!)**

**Samcoo 12, Steph needs a whole volley of bitch slaps, but with The Authority all around her, Lauren is kind of outnumbered. For now she'll have to bide her time with the bitch slap!**

**Skovko, Yep, Roman is the big brother/best friend we all need and deserve.**

**Moxley Gal1, Hmmm, well, I wouldn't want to give too much away, so you'll have to wait and see…**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thank you!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Haha, well, Dean riding in at the head of an alligator army would be quite the visual, but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to go in quite that direction! To make up for that though, please accept more of Roman being an absolute gem!**

**Minnie1015, My lips are sealed on who the help is going to be from. Well, at least until midway through this chapter. But hey, that still counts as suspense right?!**

**HannonsPen, *bows* thank you, I'm glad my Stephanie is the most despicable out there. But then again, she writes herself since she's so wonderfully awful! You're right though, Operation Save Dean is on!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Well, you know what they say, love me, love !y cliffhangers (lol!) Plenty more coming up, although I'm giving you a bit of break this week (only a little one though!)**

**Time to step up the search for Dean!**

* * *

**My Favorite Enemy**

"So now let me get this straight here," the cop sighed heavily, pointing accusingly with the tip of his pen as he leaned his hefty bulk in over the desktop of the eighteenth police precinct in Cleveland, Ohio, "You think your husband — ,"

"Dean Ambrose," I interrupted, which earned me a flicker of unimpressed policeman eye,

"You think your husband, _Dean_ _Ambrose_," he emphasized. Insincerely to my ears, but I could have been wrong, "Was kidnapped by a — ," he peered down at his notes, "_Hillbilly_, in front of fifteen thousand people?"

I nodded,

"That's right. Although, um," I bit my lip, "Uh maybe you should change the fifteen thousand to _fifty_ thousand instead. You know, because of the people watching at home."

"Oh of course."

Sat somewhere behind me in the waiting area of the eighteenth precinct, which was the only one open at — I checked my watch — half past four in the morning, were two teenage boys who, based on their expressions were drunk and waiting for their parents to show up, a small Asian woman with a large snapping turtle that I could only assume she had either stolen or found and a drag queen in white fishnets with one knee hooked over the other and with a green stiletto heel bobbing around below that. So if _that_ was a regular night in Ohio, then I could almost see why the bulky looking officer seemed so mad.

He blinked at me,

"Wait here."

"Are you going to get sniffer dogs?" I speculated hopefully, "Or call in the FBI? Because Bray _is_ crazy you know."

"Yeah and he ain't the only one."

"I'm sorry?" I replied, figuring I must have misheard him,

"Nothing miss," he chirped, "Now you stay right here and I'll go find someone who can, uh, _assist_ you."

"Thank you so much," I saluted him, "Over and out."

"Right," he nodded, shooting me some serious side eye and then scuttling for the back office. To call a SWAT team in I guessed.

I blew out a sigh,

Good. Something was happening and with the Cleveland police behind me we were to _bound_ find Dean.

Crossing over the doorway I poked my head around it and then looked for our rental, pulled up beside the curb. Roman had stayed behind the wheel making phone calls and ringing the roster to see if they had any news. He looked up when he saw me and so I gave him a thumbs up before ducking back into the precinct again, so I could be there when Officer Grumpy came back with the cavalry and —

"He's calling for a psych evaluation you know," the drag queen drawled laconically from behind me.

I turned myself towards her, frowning heavily,

"Huh?"

"For you," he carried on. Or _she_ carried on I should say, "Because he thinks you're _coo coo," _

She twiddled her finger beside her head and I blinked at her, feeling just a little bit outraged,

"No he doesn't. He's gone to get help and — ,"

"A straitjacket?" the drag queen sneered. But not in a cruel sort of way. Not like Stephanie who only _knew_ bitchiness. Instead it was more like the cool kid at school, "Honey, listen, I know how these cops work and _that_ one doesn't believe you. Go take a look."

She waved a manicured hand towards the office, so I slid along the counter and peered through the door.

Officer Grumpbox was perched on a desk edge, whispering into a handset,

"The woman's outta her mind. I mean she thinks her husband got kidnapped by some redneck in front of thousands of people. You better come right away, I get the feeling this broad could turn violent."

I gaped, I could _not_. Well, except for earlier on, when I had possibly tried to scratch Stephanie's eyes out. But then again _everybody_ wanted to try and do that.

I turned back to the drag queen with a wince,

"Um, thank you?"

"Run sweetie, _run_," she flapped her hand across the room and I nodded and then made a break for the exit, only narrowly avoiding the huge snapping turtle and with the cop yelling after me,

"Hey lady — lady _wait_."

Roman seemed surprised by my launch into the rental, but having driven for years with Dean he took the urgency pretty well and so simply clicked the big SUV out of neutral and then pulled away from the curb as I yelled wildly,

"Drive, drive, drive."

"So I take it things didn't go as well as you hoped in there?" he offered eventually as we pulled up to our hotel.

Dean's bag was bobbing around on the backseat, full of his clothes and his things and his _smell_. His rugged manly smell, which was nothing _like_ what Vince McMahon wore.

I clamped my bottom lip to stop it from wobbling,

"Um, no. Because I _think_ I might have said the wrong thing at some point and made him think I had a mental problem,"

Roman quirked an eyebrow,

"Oh? Is that all, huh?"

Having backed into a space and then shut off the engine, he was already halfway out of the car and loading up his bags, Dean's bag and _my_ bag as I flapped and tried to help,

"Nah. I got this baby girl."

So instead therefore I tried to make myself useful by scuttling ahead and opening the doors and by making sure the elevator didn't close on him and making plans to save Dean. Because I had a _lot_ of those. Some of them good and some of them, uh, not so.

"Okay, So how about we put out a reward? Because _somebody_ must have seen Bray pulling up at a gas station, or driving past. _Or_ we hire a private investigator. Like Remington Steele or Magnum PI."

There was a couple in the elevator car who had clearly been smooching, but who had broken apart hastily as we had stumbled in, with Roman taking up most of the floor space with our eight tonnes of luggage. Oh and Dean's little bag. They shuffled aside to make more room as I rambled,

"Well we've got to do _something_,"

"I know baby girl."

"Because the thought of Dean being alone and helpless is killing me. God. Is this what _he_ was like the time that Bray kidnapped _me_?"

The making out couple gaped across at us in astonishment, which I barely even noticed as Roman blew out a breath,

"Actually no, because uce was tearing the place up. Not even _Seth_ could work his magic and calm him back down."

He was going for humor but it didn't work out for him. My bottom lip trembled

"Roman — ,"

"Easy. _Easy_ now, because as much as I hate it, we might just have to face it that we got nothing until Wyatt decides to make his next move and in the meantime trust uce to hold it together."

The elevator pinged way too brightly above us and we shuffled back out to the relief of our smooching friends, who began to make out before the doors were even closed again.

Dean and I liked making out.

_Ouch_.

I spluttered,

"But what if Bray doesn't _come_ to Raw tomorrow? What if it's like when he kidnapped Kane that time and had him trapped at the compound forever and forever. I can't let that happen to Dean. I just _can't_."

I was trailing behind him as we headed for our hotel room. Or by which I meant as we headed for _our_ hotel room. As in mine and Dean's. Or what _had_ been mine and Dean's once, but was mine now I guessed. I sucked in a sob and then probably would have broken down and bawled my poor lungs out had the Big Dog not stopped suddenly.

I walked straight into him,

"What the hell?"

Because I was staring at the back of his sweatshirt and trying to untangle myself from his hair, I couldn't see what he was actually proclaiming at, although I heard it. Or rather, I heard_ them_.

"God damn it. _There _you are. Where have you been? I've been sitting here for hours."

It wasn't Dean — unluckily — it wasn't sexy or even husky enough for that and besides which, it was nasally and super accusing and made me spring around Roman with a baffled frown,

"_Seth_?"

Because yep, sure enough that was _precisely_ who was sitting there. Or, well, make that clambering up off the floor, where he had clearly been parked with his back to our hotel room and with his long legs stretched out.

"Wh-what are _you_ doing here?"

"You know baby girl, that's a damn good question," Roman rumbled darkly, before grunting, "Take the bags."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Seth scrambled to put his hands up as the Samoan stepped forwards, "I'm here to help you, alright? So spare me the Superman Punch, okay big guy?"

I blinked.

He wanted to help?

Wait, _what_?

"Have you found Dean?" I gasped in excitement.

Seth pulled a face,

"Uh, can we talk inside?"

"What's wrong?" Roman growled, "Afraid your bosses might see you out here talking to the enemy?"

I was holding the room key up in my hand and so rather than waiting for a formal invitation our former brother simply leaned over and snatched it with a huff, before slotting it easily into the doorway as I stood and gaped back at him in mild affront,

"_Hey_ — ,"

"Will you just get in here," he snapped at us tersely, stomping across the threshold like a tantruming child and then flipping the lights on. Or rather flipping _my_ lights on.

I looked up at Roman and the Big Dog sighed heavily and then shrugged his broad shoulders before letting me in first. Because even in the midst of a kidnapping crisis, Roman Reigns was nothing if not a true gentleman.

Seth was inside waiting to push the door behind us, which he did before hastily throwing across the extra bolt and then starting to wear a threadbare groove in the carpet as he paced backwards and forwards running his fingers through his hair.

Roman dropped the bags and then stood with his arms folded as I sank onto the bedspread.

Holy crap I missed Dean,

"Look," Seth started, from pretty much out of nowhere. Still pacing, "I could get into a whole _mess_ of trouble for this."

"So then why do it?" Roman rumbled back icily, unmoved by the performance.

"Do _what_?" I squeaked. My heart was thumping in triple time under my blouse front. Because was he, in fact, saying what I _thought_ he was saying? "Have you found Dean?"

_Please. Pretty please_.

Seth blinked back at me and then sighed heatedly,

"No. I don't know. Yes?"

Well_ that_ hadn't been the response I was expecting and so I paused for a second then wet my lips,

"Sooo – ,"

"It means I haven't found him but I _might_ have," Seth snapped back at me, clearly knowing where I was headed.

He was a frustrated mess. Carding his hands through his hair so frantically that I felt there was a good chance his stupid bleached streak would snap off and then fall to the carpet like a pile of glass pieces. Because _yikes_ that thing looked brittle.

"You _might_ have found him?" Roman growled and – oh yes. Right. Missing husband. Focus Lauren, "What does _might_ have found him mean?"

Seth sucked in a breath and I did too and then held it feeling dizzy and sick and barely even able to breathe. I needed to find Dean in order to function. I needed him to be _me_.

"I know where the compound is."

"_What_?"

Both Roman and I spoke together on that one. Or alright, so _he _spoke whereas I sort of squeaked.

"The compound?"

Because how could he know about the compound? _No one_ knew about the compound. Well, I mean, apart from Bray since the compound was the base for all his super evil doings and his home and the centre of his weird cult as well. But there were stories of course though. About the things that went on there. Which was probably where I had dreamed up the crocodile stuff and why I had always imagined a tumbledown shack in a bayou with that weird Spanish moss stuff hanging down off all the trees and with no other neighbors, or people for miles and –

"It's out in New Jersey."

I blinked at him,

"Huh?"

_Poof_.

There went my fear of man eating reptiles. And fireflies come to think of it.

Roman grunted,

"It's _where_?"

Because clearly he was having the same problem as I was, except minus the crocodiles. Oops, sorry. _Alligators_.

Seth shrugged,

"New Jersey. I swear to god. It's in some warehouse that used to pack fish or dog food or something like that. I don't know, I wasn't really listening to that part."

Roman frowned at him,

"Who the hell even told you where it was?"

"Luke Harper."

Oh my god. I slapped my own forehead. Or, okay fine, _didn't_ but really really _wanted_ to, because – Harper. Of _course_. Why hadn't I thought of Harper. The former Bray Wyatt redneck hillbilly minion who had turned from the dark side a few months before and was one of only three living people on the roster who had been to the Wyatt compound. Well, _voluntarily _that was. In my excitement I could almost have hugged him. And our former brother too.

"That's_ genius_ Seth. Oh my god, thank you. Thank you, thank you _so_ much."

In response he blew a huff out. He was good at doing that. As if everything we did – or_ I_ did to be specific – was a drain on his limited patience. But he seemed weirdly awkward too, gesturing from over the room with a head scratch.

_Hmm_. I wonder if he had picked up that habit from Dean?

"Uh, sure I mean it wasn't exactly rocket science given he used to be a Wyatt, you know? And besides, it kinda wasn't my idea totally. It was Hunter's."

"Hunter's?" I repeated in dog whistle tones of shock and then nearly sliding off the king size in horror as my sweaty palms faltered, "As in – Hunter my _dad_. As in Hunter Hearst Helmsley? Chief of Operations?_ That_ Hunter?"

In return Seth shot me a frustrated look. Two parts withering to one part _duh dumbass_.

"No Lauren, the _other _Hunter we have on the staff," he sneered back and okay so his version _was _like Stephanie. Roman stepped closer in an unspoken warning and Seth dropped it instantly and then took a step back, his hands held up as he bumped into the doorway and rammed one of his kidneys into the door handle.

_Good_.

"Uh, I mean _he_ was the one who mentioned Harper knowing. But uh, _I_ went and found him and asked and _that_ part. So, you know, that does _kinda_ still make me the hero."

He was trying to get Roman not to scramble his brains out and really it was kind of _nice_ seeing him afraid, since for once he didn't have J and J security or Kane to come along and help _un_even up the odds, like he had done every time he and Dean had faced off.

_Dean_.

"Well then," I chirped, bouncing up, "What are waiting for?"

I had never been part of a rescue mission before, but I had certainly been the _object _of a kidnapping. _Three times_ in fact, so I felt like I knew what I was letting myself in for. And besides, it was _Dean_ and so even if there _were_ man eating reptiles and croc – um, _alligators _– then I was ready and prepared. Just so long as it meant getting him back safely.

I _had_ to.

I had nothing else. He was literally all I had.

Which was probably why I was trying to pull some boots on – my thick hiking boots, because they seemed more kickass – when Roman came across the room and pushed them back down again, rumbling gently at me,

"Easy baby girl. Not tonight,"

I frowned at him,

"Huh? But we need to get Dean back. We need to go and save him and – ,"

"And what if we do? What if we drive ourselves out to New Jersey and then get there and find he's been in Cleveland this whole time and we miss Bray showing up on Raw. What then, huh?"

"Oh," I mumbled. I hadn't thought of that. Although if we_ weren't_ going riding to the rescue, then that meant – _that_ meant –

_Oh no._

I let out a sob,

"Roman _please_. We can't just _leave_ him. Wh-what if he thinks we're not coming after him? Or what if Bray hurts him, or is _already_ hurting him or – ,"

_Oh god, oh god._

Yep, that was it. I was beginning to hyperventilate, which Dean usually handled by kissing me calm. Like the first time the two of us had gone swimming together, or the time I had freaked about meeting his mom. But which obviously wasn't an option for Roman. My vision started spotting – goodbye cruel world – then Seth stomped over with a sigh of frustration and shoved my head between my legs.

"God damn it Lauren, _breathe_."

Possibly through the shock of having Seth Rollins touch me in a way that implied he was actually concerned, or else because of his bark of instruction, I sucked in a breath through bewilderment alone, then blew it out as Seth pushed me down harder and as my knees crushed my lungs.

"Do it again," he snapped, like the world's most irritable and nasally psychotherapist, but I did what he said and sucked in another breath "_Again_."

He kept on barking through the next several cycles, right up until I started to feel normal again. Or as normal as I could given my husband had been _kidnapped_ and besides which, he was squashing my boobs into my thighs, which was _definitely_ not a super comfortable position.

"_Again_,"

"Okay, okay Stalin," I flapped him off and then slowly popped back up with my hair all staticked and sticking up in big clumps like a crazy secretary bird. Roman was knelt by my side looking worried and he helped as I tried to smooth it down,

"Hey, you okay?"

I nodded and then bit my lip,

"Um, I _think_ so. I mean, obviously except for the – ,"

I waved a loose hand and the Big Dog sighed, knowing what it meant exactly without me having to say it. Because what _could_ I say?

_Dean._

"I know baby girl. I know," he nodded standing up and giving me a pet on the head, "But if Bray brings uce to the show tomorrow, then I damn sure as_ hell_ want to make sure I'm there, so I can go down to the ring and drive by his ugly beard off and Superman Punch him too."

"But what if – ," I sniffed, "But what if he _doesn't _bring Dean to Raw tomorrow? What happens then?"

Roman's eyes glinted. He didn't do angry, or-punch-yourself-in-the-face mad like Dean often did. But he _did_ do silently and stoically vengeful and it made me shiver. In a good way.

_Ooh_.

"Well then in _that_ case baby girl, we head on over to New Jersey and teach Bray Wyatt a thing or two about taking our uce. That sound like a plan?"

I grinned keenly,

"Um, hell yeah it does. We'll show that big hillbilly a thing or two. Right Seth?"

Our turncoat former brother blinked back like a deer in headlights,

"Uh, what?"

I faltered,

"Bray. I was talking about Bray. Um, I was saying we're going to teach him a lesson when the three of us get down there to bust Dean out."

"_Three_?" Seth barked in horror, which I guessed was a maths thing, or possibly the fact that it _had_ been a long day. What with his big PPV match with Cena and then Roman storming in and punching him –

Oops. No _wonder _he was antsy about being round the big dog and –

Wait. Was that a bruise?

"You me and Roman," I shrugged. Although in hindsight maybe Roman had hit him harder than I had figured. Because, I mean, he _was _a big guy after all.

Seth let out a laugh and then blinked,

"Are you serious? Do you really think _I_ would go out there with _you_?"

He looked aghast and a little bit revolted like I had possibly suggested throwing up in his luggage, or skinny dipping together. Which I wouldn't have, because _bleurgh_.

"But," I spluttered, "But you told us about the compound and you sat outside the door, so that means you _have_ to care."

Seth threw his hands up,

"God damn it, not this shit again. Listen Lauren and this time get it into that thick head of yours. _I do not care about you or Dean Ambrose_.I don't care about _any _of you, alright?" he stomped in closer and Roman moved in to match him, like he figured that Seth was maybe going to hurt me somehow. Which he was, but just not with his fists or a curb stomp, "I helped you out so I wouldn't have to see you crying or blubbering into the microphone on commentary forever more. Because that's what you do Lauren. Cry and cause trouble. I'm _glad_ Bray took Ambrose."

I gasped at that – too far – then, oh god began to tear up right on cue again. So perhaps he had a point?

"Get out Seth," Roman growled, stepping in front of him so he couldn't look down at me and watch me snivelling. Seth blinked for a second or two, almost as if he was surprised by the whole thing, but then shrugged back like it meant nothing to him,

"Fine. As if I _want _to be stuck here with you two."

He turned on his heel and then stalked across the room, where he stood for a minute and fumbled the door handle, which probably wasn't _quite_ the dramatic exit he'd had planned, but served him right for being an asshole.

Seeing him go I launched up from the bedsheets and darted towards him, pulling out of Roman's grasp. Because suddenly I was furious – furious – at him and I wanted him to know that,

"Baby girl, don't – ,"

"Oh yeah?" I yelled as I got to the doorway, completely ignoring Roman in a red blooded mist and also ignoring all the slumbering folks around us, since it was five in the morning, "Go on you coward. Run. We can save Dean without you _and_ kick Bray's evil backside, so we don't_ need_ you and we don't want you around. Face it Seth, you're alone and you're always going to _be_ alone because you're a – a dillweed."

Then I slammed shut the door, wondering why I had chosen to use _dillweed_ for the first time in my life right there and right then. But mostly I was just really, really pumped up. I wish Dean could have seen me.

Roman chuckled at me,

"Wow."

"Look like it's just you and me now big man," I told him as he put his arms around me to try and calm me down, but which could never be as good as Dean and his kisses and his swearing and his smell and his arms,

"That's all uce needs."

* * *

**Poor old Dean. What has Bray been doing to him? Answers on a postcard. Or maybe a hint next week?**


	4. Hurt

**Hello all. Hope you're all safe and well in these weird times we're living in. **

**Time to find out what Bray has done with Dean!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Evil Seth just can't stop himself, but deep down I think he's just mixed up and misunderstood. Maybe?!**

**Skovko, Evil Shield Seth and Evil 2014 Seth are easily my favourite incarnations. In the Shield he was just such an ass and on his own he was such a wonderfully slimy little weasel. Which also makes him fun to write!**

**Rebel8954, Yep, Bray is definitely one for gloating. And rambling. And talking in riddles. And being weird. I swear Bray is the greatest villain the WWE has ever created. He's so creep-tastic!**

**Mandy, Hi, hope it's been as good a week for you as it can be given everything that's happening. Hope you like this chapter as much as the last one! I agree, Seth is hiding how he really feels. Not that he has to be honest about it!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Well, there may still be hope for Seth!**

**HannonsPen, Seth? With a filter? Hmm. Would that even be Seth? Haha, you've been very patient. Have a gold star!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Yep, Roman is always a safe bet when it comes to trusting someone. As for Seth? Well, who knows what's going on with that knucklehead. I'm not even sure he knows!**

**Wrestlingfanforever, Aww, thank you. Reading/writing is the best for escaping the real world.**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I always say that Roman is like a big cuddly blanket. Everything feels a bit safer when he's near. I mean, obviously Lauren would rather Dean, but Roman is definitely the next best thing.**

**Minnie1015, Aww, thanks! I love the little details, sometimes I have to rein myself in so that things don't get too quirky! Or, well, any more quirky than they currently are!**

**Enjoy everyone!**

* * *

**Hurt**

As Fandango's dance music blared across the arena, I snapped my head up suddenly and wiped away my drool.

"Wha – what's going on? Oh god. Was I _sleeping_?"

There was an audible _thunk_ as my mike was turned off, followed by Michael Cole clearing his throat along the table as he held things together. Or tried to at least.

"Fandango in action tonight, accompanied by Rosa," he offered in response to the woman in a slinky black number with a flower in her hair, who was dancing fairly badly in time to the music in a bright shaft of spotlight in the middle of the ring. Ducking low into the splits she pointed to the rampway, where Fandango was stood copying Jericho's pose, since Jericho had –

Uh.

Okay, I'd missed that part. But the last thing I could remember, Brock Lesnar of all people had been stood with Jericho in the middle of the ring and so based on that I assumed he'd been flattened like a purple trunked bug.

Rest in peace Jericho.

Taking a run up, Fandango slid beneath the ring ropes and nearly headbutted Rosa straight in the crotch, which Lawler in particular seemed to have been hoping for,

"I sure do like Rosa's body language," he was saying, "And she knows how to use it as well,"

JBL meanwhile poured out a glass of water and then pushed it my way,

"Drink this will you,"

"Thanks."

Not that he could bear to be kind to me for too long, or – you know – at _all _really,

"You're embarrassing yourself."

_Ugh_.

Throwing the water down in one gulp like a drunkard, I shivered and let the icy cold chill wake me up. Not that it was _my_ fault that I was feeling a little weary considering that in the previous twenty four hours I had managed a grand total of forty five minutes of sleep, on account of my husband, best friend and life partner having been kidnapped by a hillbilly freak.

How _could_ I have slept? I mean, even if I'd wanted to. Which I hadn't, in case I had missed anything. Like Dean busting loose and then kicking our hotel door down like an action movie hero, which I had desperately hoped for. Because Dean was a badass. So why _hadn't_ he come back to me? Why hadn't he escaped?

Unless –

Unless he was hurt. Or unless Bray was keeping him locked up in a dungeon, or really _had_ fed him to crocodiles.

Alliga –

Oh never mind.

The point was that sleep had been entirely impossible and it was starting to catch up with me.

The music died off and Rosa slunk back as Dango picked up a microphone and then kissed a Slammy statue that definitely wasn't his own. Because no matter_ how_ deeply I had been sleeping, I would have noticed if _Fandango_ had won an award. Unless, you know, it was maybe for dancing. Or whatever it was _he_ did, since it didn't always seem like dance.

"It looks like Raw is Jericho," he started, in the weird half breed accent that I never been able to place, "Is now Raw _was_ Jericho,"

He snorted in amusement and –

Oh okay. So Chris was dead then.

"And so just like my Wrestlemania victory," he continued, although luckily for everyone that was as far as he got, since suddenly a familiar pounding bassline descended and the whole place erupted as a name popped up on screen. Which included me and my re-turned on microphone,

"Yay."

_Roman Reigns _

"Oh boy," Michael Cole yelled out, as the whole place turned and began to look wildly, trying to see which set of stairs he would appear from,

"Hey, there he is," JBL barked, as the glowering form of my older brother strode crowd-side and then stood up on the steps looking bulky and mean,

"Looks like the Slammy award winning wrestler of the year is here," Michael Cole bellowed as I beamed with familial pride. Because I had most certainly been awake for _that_ part. Although it hurt that Dean had missed it. Unless he was there and Bray had him tucked away somewhere with a monitor, watching it all happen.

_Crap_.

I swallowed down a lump and then tried not to think about the other alternative. That Dean was in New Jersey a million miles from where we were. Or three hundred and thirty six miles to be specific, but which might as well have been a million as far as I was concerned.

"Of course last night folks," Michael Cole continued, "At the TLC Pay Per View in Cleveland Ohio – ,"

"Which has an unhelpful police department," I interjected, earning looks from my colleagues and _another_ mike turn off.

Darn.

"Last night Roman Reigns came down and took out the Big Show, aiding John Cena in his battle with Seth Rollins."

"So then what does this interfering hot head want _now_?" JBL drawled, as part of his usual one man mission to crawl up my father's rear end far enough to see the sun. Irrespective of the fact that Steph and Hunter were not there for the taping, which was the one thing that evening that had actually gone my way.

I glanced up into the rafters,

_Thanks mom. _

Because I always liked to figure it was her watching over me when something went right.

_Tell Dean we're coming, okay?_

Roman swung between the ropes and flipped his hair back like some sort of oiled up Ancient Greek god, as my bestie Kelly liked to say and in fact _had _said when I had phoned her that morning crying my heart out about Dean.

"Well," she had said, "At least you've got that oiled up sex god and besides, it's _Dean_. He's going to be fine."

Fandango stepped forward with a look of pure outrage as Rosa skittered out, which was a wise move from her.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, "This is my moment, this is my – ,"

"_Ohhh_," Michael Cole barked in a physically reaction as Roman responded with an almighty slap. One which actually propelled Fandango backwards as the mike skittered off with a pop of playback noise. Meanwhile Jerry Lawler half squeal-half chuckled.

Because of _course_ he did,

"_Hoo hoo_."

He sounded like an owl. Albeit an owl who not three seconds earlier had been watching Rosa's legs scrambling out of the ring.

As Fandango checked his nose for a possible breakage, Roman let out an _oooh_ which was mirrored by the crowd and then flung his arms out, all full Samoan warrior, before charging and nearly spearing Fandango in half.

"_Spear_ – ,"

"Oh my god," JBL beamed broadly, forgetting he hated Roman as Dango's lanky body broke.

"He is going to feel_ that_ in the morning," Lawler offered as Roman looked up and then grinned, or no, _smirked_ but in a way that was better than Stephanie _and_ Seth and even the helpful drag queen from last night.

For a minute he stood surveying his yard again, for the first time in what had been nearly five months and as the audience chanted his name over and over. Which we sat and let them do, uninterrupted.

_Roman Reigns_.

Looking around he nodded my way in solidarity and then lifted up the microphone.

"Here he goes," Lawler barked, although before uce had a chance to get a single word out, there was a sudden blast of music and a blue flash of light, as well as a worryingly familiar opening.

_Uh oh_.

"Oh my goodness. The _Big Show_ is here," Michael Cole squealed like a preteen at a concert, "The man Roman Reigns speared through a table last night when the Big Show tried to interfere in the matchup between Cena and Rollins."

"Come on now Michael," JBL huffed, gesturing towards the ramp where the big man was lumbering, "That wasn't interfering. Show was trying to help, that's all."

"Trying to help Seth you mean," I shot back with a frown, as I remembered his performance the night before in my hotel room.

_I'm glad Bray took Ambrose. _

Stupid Seth.

I balled up my fists, as the Big Show picked up a microphone that may as well have been from a doll's house since that was how looked in his giant sized hands. Roman beat him to it though and _god_ he was awesome. I mean, not as awesome as _Dean_ was, but still pretty cool.

"Show," he rumbled, "I'm telling you right now. You come down to this ring and I'm a hit you in the nose."

"Whoa," Lawler chuckled as the audience cheered wildly, since up to that point it had been a pretty weird show. Mostly because, like me, they were wondering when the hell Wyatt and Dean would pop up. Or if they would, or what in the hell was happening, to which I felt like standing up and saying _hey me too guys_.

Show shook his head like a great big bull mastiff,

"Well now pretty boy, I would like to see you try. Standing out there with the audience cheering," which they did again. Loudly, "They're so excited you're back. But you see you made one little mistake already. You put me through a table last night on TLC and so now I have to put _you_ back in the hospital."

He dropped the mike down and my heart flipped clean over.

No. Not Roman. Who would help me save Dean? Although luckily before Show even got through the ring ropes, Roman countered with a Superman Punch, which made Michael Cole nearly explode in excitement. And the audience too.

"_Oh, Superman Punch_."

Big Show stumbled but managed to keep his footing, then turned and wandered back over to the ring.

"Oh no," I squeaked, "Is he getting back in there?"

But instead all he did was kick out at the steps, then pick part of them up to throw right at the apron, like a toddler having a breakdown over milk, or toys, or candy, or whatever kids fussed about. Which was everything according to Kelly, who had a son.

Lawler – yep, you guessed it – chuckled,

"I think Big Show just spat out one of his _teeth_."

Back in the ring Roman flexed his fist proudly and then shouted across the distance, although I couldn't hear the words. Hmm. One of them sure looked like _bitch_ though on the monitor. Michael Cole coughed hurriedly,

"Uh, Big Show backing away and clearly deciding that at least for tonight anyway, retreat is the best course of action to take."

JBL snorted,

"_Please_. Reigns hasn't won this. All he's done here is anger the beast."

Roman's music was playing in the background and to celebrate he had clambered up onto the ropes.

Which was where he_ still_ was when the lights went out suddenly. Or at least the _overhead_ lights went out suddenly anyway, because the titantron in front of us stayed bright and piercing as a whiskery face slid in and filled the screen.

_Bray._

I let out a squeak right into the microphone, partly from excitement and partly through fear. Because as freaky as it was, where Wyatt was, _Dean_ was and so this was our chance.

He grinned,

"Hello Mockingbird."

I shuddered.

Oh god. He was talking to me directly. From the corner of my eye I watched as my colleagues turned their heads and as the cameras also spun towards me. Which, you know, was great.

Thanks guys.

I sucked in a breath and then tried to act stoic, but it came out looking constipated.

_Enough_ \- I wanted to scream - _where's my husband_?

Roman shifted uneasily in the ring and weirdly Bray seemed to sense it, or see it, since his head suddenly snapped to the side with a flick, which when _he_ did it was decidedly _not_ god like.

"Well, well, well," he grinned, "Welcome back Reigns. 'Cept I bet you're wonderin' what happened to your boy, right? Wonderin' if Bray has been treatin' him right? Well don't you worry none, because Dean Ambrose is fine here. _More_ than fine even. I'm makin' him _better."_

Better? I blinked. Because what did _that_ mean? Dean was _already_ perfect. He couldn't get any better. Well, except for - you know - maybe by putting his socks in the hamper instead of trying to slingshot them from right across the room. But perfect nonetheless. Or perfect for _me_ anyway.

Bray laughed roughly. God, I _hated_ when he did that. In fact I hated when he did pretty much anything.

"You see, Dean Ambrose is like me," he carried on, "Dean's a monster and people don't like monsters. Oh, you _think_ you do, but you just want to point and laugh. You don't care about us. You don't care about Ambrose."

I made a disgruntled _humph_ into the mike. Um, exsqueeze him? Because that part was nonsense. Of course we cared. We happened to care a whole lot.

"An' so that's why I'm makin' him better," Bray grumbled, his voice tapering off at the end of each word, as if he was singing but had forgotten the tune, "I'm makin' him harder. I'm makin' him tough. Because once I'm done, Dean Ambrose won't need you. He won't need _any_ of you. He'll be better. You wanna look?"

I gasped,

_Yes._ Or -

No, wait a second. _Did_ I?

Because what if Bray had him under Wyatt mind control? Or strung up over a pit of alligators, or strapped to a table or -

Bray grinned,

"Well here he. The great Dean Ambrose."

He swung the camera lens suddenly around, like a third year film student trying to be edgy, but coming across like, well, a third year film student. Although in _his_ case a super batshit hillbilly one. For a second it was hard to even figure the shaky frame out, but eventually the gloomy looking shot stabilized and I let out a squeak and then covered my mouth over. Because yep, sure enough, there he was, as promised.

Dean.

_Not_ hanging over a pit of hungry reptiles, but instead sitting down and slumped over on the ground. His wrists had been cuffed to some meshing behind him - because god, what _was_ it with Bray Wyatt and cuffs - and he looked to be asleep. I gulped. Or unconscious, which was something I hadn't thought about.

JBL swallowed,

"Good lord."

"See?" Wyatt grinned, putting the camera to his face again, "Here he is. Safe an' sound just like I said."

He reached out and tousled Dean's damp hair clumsily and I shuddered in response and had to look away.

_Ugh_.

Back up in the ring, Roman was balling his fists up. But what could he do? We didn't know where they were. Although as Bray moved the camera to try and get a better angle, the lens swept over a dimly lit factory floor. Or at least, what had _once_ been a factory floor at some point, based on the open and echoey space and the holes in the ground from where machinery had been ripped up and -

I blinked.

Holy crud.

Dean was at the _compound_.

The compound we had all thought was somewhere in swampland, but which was _actually_ in a warehouse on the New Jersey shore. I squeaked and JBL reached a hand across the desktop and patted my shoulder,

Was he _comforting_ me?

"There, there," he grunted, sounding none too convincing, "A pretty girl like you is bound to find a new husband soon."

"_John_," Cole hissed, digging at him with an elbow as the Texan spread his hands wide and looked baffled,

"What?"

Back up on the titantron Bray let out a chuckle. Not that I was paying much attention to that, since instead I was staring intently at Roman, who turned and nodded at me, having realized the same thing. Which was namely that Dean was holed up in New Jersey. And what was more, was that we had the address for it too, since the Big Dog had cornered Luke Harper in catering while I had turned on the tears until he'd given it up. Of course, back _then_ we'd still been working on the basis that Wyatt was fixing to show up with Dean on Raw, but now we knew that he definitely _wasn't_, there was nothing to stop us.

"Say goodbye Dean," Bray laughed.

The camera went dead and the main lights flooded back again. Not that I noticed since I was already on the move and clumsily trying to rip off my headphones,

"Hey, where do you think _you're_ going?" JBL barked, squinting up through baffled eyes at me.

I shrugged at him,

"Where else? I'm going to rescue my man."

Oh yeah. _Mike drop_.

Or okay, _not_ a mike drop, since the mike was on the headphones and cost more than my house, which is therefore why I put them down super gently and then spun on my heels with my heart in my throat. Roman had already started climbing through the ring ropes and so I scuttled round to meet him at the foot of the ramp as Cole narrated like crazy in the background and presumably tried to run damage control,

"Uh, good evening folks and if you've just joined us then it looks like Lauren and the newly returned Roman Reigns have got themselves a score to settle with Bray Wyatt."

"And I sure wouldn't want to be him right now," Lawler chuckled - what else - in reply to him, before his voice was abruptly swallowed up by the crowd, who were yelling and cheering and whooping like crazy things.

"_Roman I love you_."

"_Go kick Wyatt's ass_."

"_Whoo, Lauren. That's right. Get 'em out_ _girl_."

Because why was there was always some big drunken idiot screaming loudly for boobage?

It was a family show.

Avoiding gorilla – and therefore our chairman, who would no doubt be incensed at two of his workers bailing out – I trotted beside the big man as we went around the side way, ducking underneath the metal arms of the titantron and then weaving through packing crates and rigging and lighting before suddenly popping up in the parking garage, where the brightly liveried WWE trucks and - perhaps more crucially - our rental car were parked up.

As part of the plan to be ready for anything that Roman and I had laid out the night before, our luggage was already locked up and loaded and the gas tank was full.

"You got the keys baby girl?" Roman rumbled as I half jogged beside him,

"Check," I nodded pulling them out of my bra, which, since I was wearing a dress with no pockets, had been the only option.

Roman threw me a look,

"Do I even _wanna_ know what else you got down there?"

Dean of course would have stopped and had a look. Complete with his tongue poking out in exertion as he rummaged around and generally copped a good feel. _Ugh_. Holy crap I missed him like crazy. I missed his wet kisses and his hands on my hips and running through my hair and down my back and –

Yep.

In my bra cups

"Um, only the address for the compound," I panted back, suddenly wishing I had picked a flatter shoe choice, or perhaps a pair of in-lines to help me keep up.

Note to self: Ebay search a pair of roller skates

Roman unlocked the rental car with a click and then slipped behind the wheel as I launched for the backseat, where my kidnapping rescue mission outfit was stashed, which comprised of black leggings, a black turtleneck and black pumps, so I could blend into the shadows. Or else Bray Wyatt's black heart. Pulling on the leggings like a Vegas quick change act, I had my woollen dress halfway over my head and was about to fling it off my body completely when suddenly the passenger door flung open wide.

"What in the world - ,"

I squealed and pulled it back on again as a figure clambered in holding a camcorder,

"_Matt_?"

"Oh hey sweetie," he chirped, like it was perfectly normal to jump into our car with a camera in tow. I blinked at him,

"Um, w-wait, why are you here?"

For a second he stared like I was speaking in tongues, before smiling and tentatively holding up the camera like he had only just noticed it,

"Oh, you mean this? Uh, Vince told someone to grab some equipment and follow you. You know, to keep the WWE universe in the loop. He wants to do a segment on tomorrow night's Smackdown."

"No," Roman rumbled, reaching an arm out over him and then pushing the passenger side door wide open in a not so subtle hint.

Matt huffed then pulled it shut again,

"Now listen here Reigns - ," Roman glared, "I mean _Mister_ Reigns. Because Vince is hellbent on someone tagging along, so either it's me, or it's somebody else back there. Somebody who doesn't know _or_ care about Dean, which I do because I _happen_ to be best friends with Lauren."

I blinked at him,

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh Matt, that's so sweet," I leaned forward and squeezed his arm, "Because you're _my_ best friend. Um, I mean, my best _work friend_."

He shrugged,

"I'll take it."

Roman rolled up his eyes,

"Alright, alright. Now if you two have finished, do you think we could maybe go and rescue _my_ best friend?"

I nodded and then pulled my woollen dress off swiftly, before struggling frizzy haired into the turtleneck.

"Let's go."

Matt picked up the camera and then pressed the record button,

"Matt Taylor here, intrepid backstage reporter, currently traveling with Lauren Ambrose and Roman Reigns, as they head for - ," he paused, "Um, where _are_ we going?"

"New Jersey," Roman grunted,

"Uh, excuse me?" Matty gasped, "New Jersey? As in, Jersey _Shore_, New Jersey?"

I nodded at him,

"Yep."

He blinked,

"But I haven't G, T'ed or L'ed."

Roman sighed wearily,

"This is gonna be a long ride."

I mouthed _thank you_ in the rear view and he shot me a wink, then shifted the car into drive and started forwards up the ramp for the parking lot. Or I mean, he _would_ have, had my door not been flung wide all of a sudden, followed by an unpleasant face poking through. An unpleasant face with a brittle bleached blonde streak and a Stephanie sneer.

I gaped at him,

"_Seth_?"

"Damn it Lauren," he snapped, You're taking the whole seat up. Move over will you moron."

He prodded me in the side and then kept on prodding until I slid across clumsily. Or more like _fell _across as he shoved me.

Rude much?

"_Ouch_. Seth, stop poking and – _ugh_. Why are you here anyway?" I frowned at him, caught between annoyance and alarm, "I thought you were _glad_ Bray took Dean. Remember? Remember saying that? Remembering curb stomping him in the head? Remember all the horrible things you've been doing? So if you think you can jump in like nothing has happened then – ,"

He put his hand across my mouth and ignored me,

"Drive uce."

_Uce_.

Roman's eyes flickered up briefly towards me. Seth hadn't called him _uce_ since last June. Right before he had taken a chair to the both of them and broken up their brotherhood. So why in the hell was he starting now?

I bit on his palm and then poked my tongue out at him as he pulled it back cursing,

"What the fuck Lauren? _Ow_."

"Put your damn belt on. _Both_ of you," Roman rumbled like a father to his rambunctious, bickering kids, before shifting the rental once again into drive move, pulling away from the arena and out on the road towards Dean.

* * *

**The hunt is officially on!**


	5. A Good Man Is Hard To Find

**Merry update day everyone! Hope you're all keeping safe and healthy. For some reason I did the reviews in backwards order this week #cabinfever**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, you just made it! Thank you, we're all okay here. I hope the same for you and yours.**

**Minnie1015, Haha, I love that you like hurting Dean as much as I do (although never too badly obviously. We need to keep him fit and healthy for more stories!)**

**HannonsPen, Yep, the gang is (nearly) all here! Although honestly I think Seth adds the most comedy value. And by comedy value I mean him being an ass!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Seth and Lauren are definitely an annoying brother-little sister combo, which you get to see even more here. Won't lie though, I love writing snarky Seth!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Bradshaw's lack of tact is my favourite thing. Lol!**

**Skovko, Seth deserves a lot more than a bite! He's a complex little creature though, so maybe we can't blame him too much for his evil doings!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Rule number one: never mess with Roman in dad mode!**

**Rebel8954, Yep, Seth is definitely battling with himself in this story, which is why I wanted to write this so bad!**

**Mandy, Seth is just a gift to write during this time! He was sneaky and arrogant, but also a real scaredy cat too. He made such a good weasel!**

**Here comes The Scooby Gang...**

* * *

**A Good Man Is Hard To Find**

Something about being given a camera had brought out the inner Steven Spielberg in Matt, since he spent the first eight and a half minutes of our journey filming out through the windscreen or trying to narrate. But in whispery tones like a naturalist filmmaker trying to crawl up on his stomach towards a hungry pride of lions. Which was equal parts crazy and oddly amusing,

"Operation Save Dean Ambrose. Hour one," he intoned, panning the camera in an arc around the rental and starting with Roman, before swivelling to me and Seth, "Location. Detroit. Mood — ,"

He paused for a second,

"Pensive."

"God damn it," Seth barked, "Will you put that thing down."

Reaching out he punted the camera lens off him and Matt took it back and rubbed the glass with his sleeve, as if having Seth's weaselly fingerprints on it would break it and potentially ruin his new backstage career,

"Uh, excuse_ me_," he huffed, "Keep your hands off the merchandise and anyway, what are _you_ so twitchy about? I mean it's not like anyone forced you to get in here."

"Good point Matt," I nodded, before glaring back "Why _are_ you here?"

Roman's eyes flickered up in the rear view, which I assumed meant he was thinking pretty much the same thing and in response to everyone staring right at him Seth shifted semi awkwardly and then waved a loose hand, as if he thought the answer should have probably been obvious.

It wasn't.

"What do you mean, _why am I here_? Why do you think? I'm here to save Ambrose, or whatever the plan is."

Roman raised a brow,

"Are you sure about that? Or are you trying to get out of that cage match with Cena I heard you bitching about earlier?"

I gaped at him,

"Wait. Is _that_ what this is? You being a weasel about a main event cage match while my husband is being _tortured_? That's it. Uce, stop the car."

Not that Roman _could_ have stopped if he had wanted to, given that we were bombing flat out down the road and having to stop to push Rollins onto the freeway would have wasted time I wasn't sure Dean even had. Not that Mr Money in the Bank had to know that.

His eyes went wide,

"Whoa. Uce, do _not _stop this car."

"And another thing," I frowned, warming up to my rant now, which okay, so maybe wasn't _all_ down to Seth. But hey, it had been a rough twenty four hours and I had to blame _someone_, "What is up with you keep saying _uce_? And going to Harper to find out about the compound and jumping in here like you — ,"

Ohhh.

I stopped dead and then blinked for a second as it wrapped around my brain stem, along with the _other_ non asshole things he had done in the crazy six months since The Shield had imploded. Like trying to help me out when I'd been stalked, which okay, so he hadn't really done with much patience, but _had_ still done. _And_ stopping the shotgun wedding with his briefcase.

I gaped in astonishment at him,

"You _care_."

It wasn't a question, but he reacted like it was one. Or, no. He reacted like he had been punched. Rocking right back in his seat in pure horror, or else like I'd insulted his teeny tiny dog. Which I would never have done because Kevin was a cutie.

"What? No I don't."

"You do too," I nodded back, completing my descent into becoming five years old again, "And _that's_ why you're here. Not because of some match, but because deep, deep down you still care about your brothers."

I was actually feeling just a little bit smug. Because after all, I had always _insisted_ he cared about us and here he was practically proving it himself. Maybe when I finally took the plunge and went to college — once I had kicked ass in my new commentary career — I wouldn't take English _or_ art history like I had planned on and would go into criminal psychology instead. Since really, I seemed to have a knack when it came to psychopaths. Or at least, I _thought_ I had.

Seth snorted,

"Oh please. You really think this means I give a damn about you people?"

Matt raised a hand up helpfully,

"Uh, yes?"

"_Wrong_," Seth snapped, "It doesn't mean anything. I'm only here because I care about _me_ and what's best for _me_ is butting heads with Dean Ambrose. Because with Cena or the Big Dog here, who says I'll win? But with Ambrose it's like shooting fish in a barrel. I win every time."

Roman slammed on the breaks and Seth, who had pointedly ignored the seat belt warning, slammed nose first into the headrest in front of him.

"_Ow_. God damn it Roman."

Uce shrugged,

"Oops. My bad. I thought I saw a squirrel up ahead in the road."

"What squirrel?" Seth barked, "There aren't even any trees here."

"Like I said then," Roman repeated, "My bad."

Seth rubbed the bridge of his schnoz for a second, then carried right on,

"And anyway — ,"

_Ugh_.

"You idiots need me if you're going to beat Wyatt. I mean, unless the plan here was to just waltz right in?"

"Um, no," I shot back maybe a little too hastily. Since, yep, okay, so that had totally been the plan. Clearly and annoyingly, what we needed was an architect. I looked up towards the rear view and Roman nodded at me.

Darn.

"Fine," I huffed, "But you're not allowed to talk to me. Or look at me. Or breathe near me."

Seth snorted,

"Fine."

"_Fine_."

From up in the front, Matty leaned towards Roman with a not so subtle whisper,

"Are they always like this?"

"Pretty much," uce grinned back, before flipping on the blinker and then merging into the tailback snaking out of Detroit. Tall silver street lamps had been placed along the median so that the moment one passed us the next one sprang up, which created a warm background glow of dusky orange as I leaned against the window and blew out a sigh.

The rumble of the tires on the freeway was soothing and so I shut my tired eyes and then thought about Dean.

Was he angry? Hungry? Was he hungry _and_ angry, or possibly hurt? Maybe even still knocked out?

I fell asleep somewhere just south of Toledo. Or I must have done I guessed, since when I looked up again the sky was blue. Not bright blue with birds and clouds and sunshine. But a mottled and inky sort of predawn shade of blue, with a hot streak of gold creeping up on the horizon, which was dotted with containers and buildings and ships.

Huh?

Even _more_ bewildering was that at some point in the hours, or what felt like _seconds_ that I had been obviously asleep, I had flopped over sideways and laid my head against something.

Something that felt solid and muscular.

"Dean?"

I sat up at once, rubbing the sleep from my eyeballs with the balls of my fists like a tiny little kid and in response, my pillow kind of stiffened in embarrassment and then cleared his throat.

Super _nasally_.

Oh.

"Hey, keep over your own side," Seth snapped tersely as I pushed up against him and then blinked in to the rental in bewilderment,

"But — ,"

"I'm not here to be your personal sleeping bag Lauren. Or to get your drool over me."

I ignored him because I could,

"Where are we?"

"New Jersey baby girl."

"Wait. We're _here_?" I gasped, pitching myself forwards so I could lean right over between the front seats and peer out into the inky gloom through the windshield to where Roman was easing the rental through the docks and tall shadowy buildings and rundown warehouses, which looked abandoned and pretty unloved.

Not to mention the perfect place to keep a kidnapped wrestler husband.

I sucked in a breath.

"There it is uce," Seth barked, rudely bashing past me to point at a structure, half hidden in the gloom behind a rickety chain link fence and with a sign above the door that was dirty and faded, but still just about legible.

_Franklin's Dog Food_ _And Fish Cannery._

Seth was right.

_That_ was the compound. The compound where Dean was and —

The compound we were driving past.

I panicked,

"Roman stop. That's it. That's where Dean is. We have to go look for him. Wait, where are you going?"

"Take it easy baby girl," the big man rumbled back at me, from the front of the rental in his big brother tones, "First I gotta park up where Wyatt can't see us. _Then_ we'll get uce back."

"Oh," I blinked, "I knew that."

As Seth snorted loudly I shot him a death glare, then sliced what I hoped was a threatening finger across my throat, as Matt meanwhile did a few quick vocal warmups and then fired up the camera,

"Mah may me mo moo. _Ahem_. Operation Save Dean Ambrose. Hour nine. Location? Jersey. Mood? Uncertain. Matt Taylor here folks, reporting from outside the notorious Wyatt compound, where my sources say The Lunatic Fringe is being held. Mom, if I don't make it home, I love you and no, Samantha _cannot_ have my room. Christiano, who I met in that club on the Lower Eastside and who took my gay virginity — ,"

Wait. Was he making a living will?

Roman pulled up around the corner from the warehouse and then stopped the car, so Matt hurried things along,

"And to Genevieve Torres who bullied me in high school, suck on it bitch," the red light switched off and Matt spun around and then shrugged, "So what's the plan here?"

Right, the plan. I sucked in a breath, only to find stupid _Seth_ talking over me.

And _at_ me as well,

"You and Lauren stay here. Me and Roman will go and bring Dean back."

Matt and I both spoke at once,

"But I have to film for the show. Because if I don't get something then I'm going to be fired — ,"

"Uh, excuse me? He's _my_ husband. Which means I'm going too."

Seth rolled his eyes,

"Oh god damn it. Uce, tell her."

Roman glanced up and I scowled in response, pouting my bottom lip out for extra good measure, which Dean would have totally prodded back in, but _couldn't_ because he'd been kidnapped by a madman and so no way in _heck_ was I not going in. Even though the thought of Bray Wyatt _terrified_ me.

Roman turned his hands up and shrugged,

"Sorry Seth, but baby girl has every damn right to be in there and besides, I trust her a whole lot more than I trust _you_."

"Thank you Roman," I chirped back sweetly, leaning forward and patting his big loyal chest, before poking my tongue out directly at Rollins and then flinging the door open, "Now can we _please_ go save Dean?"

Because it was six o'clock in the morning, in the middle of December on the New Jersey coast, the wind outside was super icy and made me shiver. Although, okay, so I guessed that could have _also_ been the nerves. Which were _definitely_ the reason that I stood for a second while the others clambered out and then let Roman take the lead.

Seth grabbed my arm,

"Hey Lauren, I'm serious. Don't expect me to come and bail you out of trouble in there."

"Well then don't expect _me_ to come and bail _you_ out either," I huffed back, before threading my arm through Matt's and then following Roman as he skirted the chain link, with my heart pounding crazily.

_Hold on Dean_. _Hold_ _on_.

Given that the warehouse which doubled as the compound — or the _inner city_ compound since perhaps there were more, like a mountain compound or a weekend beach compound — was so badly rundown and crying out for repair, it didn't take long to find a gap in the fencing that was big enough to climb through. Roman went first and then held back the chain link. Or, well, he held it for me and Matty at least, since when it came to Rollins he let it ping from his fingers and whip back into the two toned head.

Seth looked up furiously,

"_Hey_ — ,"

Roman shrugged,

"Thought I saw another squirrel."

"You _what_?"

"_Shush_," I hissed, which, I'll admit probably wasn't too fair, but hey after everything Seth had done to us, like the chair to the back thing and _stomping Dean's head into a block_, it felt good to be able to get a little retribution. Even if it _was_ a bit childish.

Or a lot.

Throwing us a look, Seth squeezed through the chain link and then stood up, brushing crud and schmutz off his pants. He pointed a leather gloved hand in my direction. Wait, when had he put _those_ on?

"You owe me for this."

"Well you owe _us_ for breaking The Shield up. So let's call it even."

I spun on my heel, deliberately trying to slap Seth with my ponytail and then followed Roman across the broken up ground, which looked like an army of subterranean mole men had been trying to tunnel up through it from beneath. Because ugh –

Of _course_ Bray would know evil mole men, that was totally his style.

At one point, I tripped and fell but was saved from face planting into the concrete by a firm black gloved hand.

Oh god damn it.

I straightened up and then swallowed my pride long enough to nod back at him and wave an awkward hand in the air,

"Um, thanks."

"I _knew_ you coming with us would be trouble," he muttered and yep, okay so he was definitely still an ass.

Up ahead Roman had stopped by a doorway, set low in the shadows of the compound at the back which Seth pushed past me without a word to press his ear to, because presumably chicken weasels had better hearing than dogs.

He paused for a second and I held my breath with him until my vision turned blue and started to spot, at which point he thankfully looked up at Roman and then shrugged.

Wait. I blinked. Was a shrug good or bad?

"I don't know man, I can't hear anything."

"Think we should try it?"

Roman put out a hand and turned the rusty handle as my poor thumping heart rate sped suddenly from triple into a dizzying _quadruple_ time. Because what if Bray Wyatt came barrelling out at us? Or a thousand cult members with pitchforks and sticks? Or a Dean who had been given a vial of hick blood and had been turned into a half human monster?

A _WereDean_?

"This is it sweetie," Matt held up the camera and then squeezed my arm as I bit back and squeak as the door let out a tiny half creak of protest and then gradually inched open to reveal –

Nothing at all.

"Oh."

Not that I had been _hoping_ for WereDeans or Wyatt or cult members, but I had totally been poised and so to be greeted with nothing but a fusty smell and darkness was kind of _disappointing_.

Which was weird.

Seth cleared his throat and then tried to look like he wasn't _also_ freaking at the lack of Wyatt shaped figure.

"Come on."

Letting him go first, like he had in their Shield days, Roman stood back to let me and Matt past, before inching the rickety door shut again behind us and sealing us into the Wyatt compound.

Oh god.

For some bizarre reason, when I had pictured the interior of Bray's evil lair — you know, in nightmares and things — I had mostly envisioned something clean and sterile looking, with virginal young women walking around in white shrouds. But instead the inside was as rundown as the outside, because, yep, they _definitely_ had a weekend beach place. The corridor we were stood in was covered in debris from the ceiling, which had cracks in it and was missing big plasterwork chunks and the walls had been sprayed in random tags and graffiti. Presumably from _before_ Bray had earmarked it for his home.

Because we had stepped in from out of the moonlight and the slowly approaching early light of the sun, the inside had gone back to being thick black again, only broken up by the paleness from the main space beyond, which I guessed had been the main cannery floor in its heyday, since it was big and open and sort of factory like, with corridors leading off into a series of back and store rooms, or dungeons and whatever else Bray had installed. Including maybe a closet to keep his bad Hawaiian shirts in.

The whole place was silent.

I bit my lip,

"Dean?"

It wasn't a shout, it was more like a whisper, or, okay, a squeak since I was really really scared, but it still dislodged a roosting pigeon from somewhere, which shot out in a burst of feathers and nearly made me straight up scream.

Roman put his hand over my mouth then held his finger up in a classic _shush _motion that I assumed was a gentle warning to me because of the fact I couldn't hold it together, but wasn't, which I realized as he pointed off into the blackness.

Huh?

Narrowing my eyes across the floor of the factory, I noticed a figure shambling away across the space. A big, bulky figure, that didn't look or walk like Dean did. In fact, if I had to guess, then I would have said it walked like –

Bray.

Holy crap. There he was. Bray Wyatt. The man who had kidnapped the love of my life and made me spend the whole night crying and snivelling like a child.

I balled up my fists and then took a step towards him before I even had time to realize what I was doing. My foot crunched down on a loose bit of plaster and the noise echoed out like a bomb around the place.

Bray paused instantly and then spun around towards me, but Roman got there first, physically dragging me back as the four of us flattened against the wall of the corridor with our hearts pumping like crazy.

Or, I mean, _mine_ certainly was.

For a second Bray stood where he was, unmoving, but then the pigeon fluttered again and he turned and then continued to stalk across to the main entrance, which were a great big set of doors that could have fit a truck through, before pulling one open just enough to slip out past and then pulling it shut behind him with a scratch of concrete.

He was gone.

Blowing out a sigh of relief I slumped backwards and then looked up guiltily,

"Um, sorry about that. I just, ugh, I _really_ wanted to hit him,"

"You and me both baby girl," Roman growled, before softening a little and then my ruffling hair up. Fondly too, which was nice.

"Scrappy Doo," he grinned, which I liked as a nickname, because Dean and I loved watching old cartoons. Or _he_ loved watching and I liked snuggling up beside him, so he would like the comparison. When we found him that was.

Uce jerked his head along the corridor away from us and then threw a reassuring wink at me,

"Come on."

With Bray gone — though where to or for how long wasn't certain — the compound seemed a little bit safer to search. But still creepy though. As in super _duper_ creepy, which was part of the reason that I moved so darn fast, positively speed walking my way along the corridor and throwing every door open like a crazy person.

"Dean?"

Roman and Seth were both following behind me, giving the whole place a proper sweep through and Matt was behind _them_, videoing everything, but as the rooms started to dwindle I began to freak out. Because what if we had driven all the way there for nothing? What if it was all part of some big Bray prank and Dean really _was_ in a swamp, or in Cleveland, or strung up over a pit of hungry crocodiles.

Oh god, oh god.

I flung open the final door, expecting it to be dark and stale like all the others and panicking so much that I was already halfway out so I could pool down into a heap in the corridor and cry my eyes out for my poor missing man, when I realized that instead of being black like all the others, there was a lightbulb hanging down in the middle of the room, which lit up a figure huddled up in one corner, with his hands cuffed tight to a piece of meshing at his back. His head was hung low which made his scruffy hair pitch forwards and he seemed to be sleeping, or unconscious.

I stopped and then spun back into the room with my mouth open as Seth crashed into me hard from behind and then snapped back in characteristic impatience,

"Lauren, what are you doing?"

But I couldn't respond. I couldn't even move or breathe for a moment. Because sat there, right in front of me, was my husband.

I gasped,

"_Dean_."

* * *

**See you next week folks. Not too long until the end now (this is only a short Lauren and Dean story) but still plenty of action left to go!**


	6. Answer To The Master

**Here we are again then folks and time to catch up with Dean. Hope you're all safe and well out there!**

**Rebel8954, Glad you like Seth's dynamic here! I love me some pissy, bratty Seth, but at the end of the day there's no one he's closer to than Dean and Roman, even after everything he's put them through (doesn't mean he has to pretend he likes them though!)**

**Wolfgirl2013, Haha, you're welcome. Who doesn't love a bit of Scooby Doo?**

**Minnie1015, Just call me The Cliffhanger Queen from now on! Also, can you imagine how cute a wereDean would be?!**

**Mandy, Aww, sorry about your bad news last week. I hope this week has been a little better for you? Lauren and Seth are so much fun to write. Plus it's always good to give Seth more layers. I didn't get enough of that when the Shield first broke up. Hugs.**

**Skovko, *Shakes fist* darn those squirrels. Thank goodness Roman is so vigilant and can spot them all!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Seth doesn't even know what he's doing at this point. I think he's in a head vs. previously non existent heart situation. But at least it's fun for us!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Don't worry, I won't keep you in suspense any longer!**

**Back to the action...**

* * *

**Answer To The Master**

Clearing the door like a Kentucky Derby winner and possibly — okay, _definitely_ — elbowing Seth, I crossed the dingy storeroom in a clumsy looking stumble and then dropped to my knees beside my unresponsive spouse, who was still in the black tank and jeans he had been wearing the _last_ time I had seen him, twenty four hours before.

His beard had grown though. Well, I mean, just a little, since obviously he'd been a bit too busy to shave, but which meant that his stubble ground into my fingers as I cupped his red hot cheeks and tried to lift his head up,

"Dean?"

He grumbled in response, which wasn't much but at least it was _something_ and so I did the only thing I could think of in response. The one thing I knew that always broke in through his anger and maybe _therefore _his unconsciousness.

I kissed him.

Nothing spectacular. It wasn't wet or earth shattering. Because, you know, he'd been kidnapped and was out for the count. Not to mention that Matt had a camera trained on us, but it was deep and I meant it and kind of _needed_ it as well considering I had spent the past twenty four hours convinced that I might never get to do it again.

Somewhere in the background Matt cleared his throat loudly and then whispered in a hiss that echoed back off the walls,

"Uh, okay guys, can we take a straw poll here? Because at what point does it become _not_ trying to wake him up and turn into a good old fashioned sexual assault?"

_Oh god_.

He was right, the kiss was getting us nowhere fast. Because what if Bray had hit Dean in the head irreversibly? Or given him a whole bunch of super strong pills? Or maybe a horror movie full frontal lobotomy, or —

"L'ren?"

I nearly squealed in triumph,

_Yes_.

Dean was blinking with groggy eyes at me. Or, okay make that groggy and very surprised looking eyes, since he looked like he had maybe seen the ghost of Elvis Presley. Or his wife in the compound of a hillbilly loon.

"_Fuck_," pulling away from me he shook his head wildly, "Princess get outta here. You can't be here."

I blinked,

"What? Why?"

Because didn't he _want_ us to bust in and save him? Or move into our new house on the lake front next week? Oh god, was this his way of trying to get _rid_ of me?

"In case Wyatt comes back and finds you here."

"Oh."

That made sense.

"I promised before I wasn't gonna let him touch you, an' I meant it okay? He's not gettin' you again. Now Princess please, will you get the fuck outta here?"

"No," I shook my head and pouted, "Not without you."

Honestly, it was looking like a full blown domestic, or, you know, as close to one as Dean and I got, which is probably why Roman cleared his throat in the doorway and then hunkered down next to us.

Dean blinked at him,

"_Uce_?"

Because oops, I may have been blocking the others with my head and all the kissing.

Roman winked at him,

"Hey babe."

Boy was Dean in for a surprise when he spied Matty and the camera and oh yeah, the former brother who had stomped on his head.

"Know where Bray's keeping the keys to these suckers?" Roman asked, meaning the handcuffs.

Dean shook his head,

"Nope. Never even seen 'em. Tried to bust loose the old fashioned way. Didn't work out so well."

He shot us a tired looking grin and then wiggled his hands so that the cuffs banged the meshing and showed up his wrists, red and bloodied from where he had obviously tried to pull out of them and break himself free.

_Ugh_ —

I kissed him again, but this time made it much sweeter and deeper, since I wasn't really sure how else I could help.

"_Fuck_," Dean mumbled a second time when we parted, "Might need a couple more of those when we get out."

"Done," I whispered, as somewhere behind us Matt fired off another moody piece to cam.

"Operation Save Dean Ambrose. Hour ten. Location? Deep in the heart of the hillbilly lair, where the rescue party has now found the target and are attempting an extraction."

Dean's head bobbed up,

"The fuck?"

For a beat it was a toss up about what most surprised him when he looked over my shoulder. Was it the camera, or the choice of words, since Matt had clearly moved on from narrating a wildlife feature to taking his cue from war movies instead.

Because, _target_? _Extraction_? What was he filming? _The Hurt Locker_?

Except as it turned out it was neither of those, since Dean had found another problem entirely and it wasn't the filming.

"The fuck is _he_ doing here?"

Matt put the camera back down with an eye roll, like he was handling a bitchy actor,

"Look, Vince sent me, okay? Because believe it or not when two of the company's top wrestlers and oh yeah, the _entirety_ of its female commentary team, suddenly bail out in the middle of a taping, I think it's safe to say people might notice. Don't you? So the old man just wanted to cover all bases. Plus I'm here for Lauren."

Dean glared at him,

"Not _you_," because his hands were cuffed he had nothing to point with and so settled instead for jerking his head towards Seth, who had more or less stood back in the doorway. But not far enough back to be invisible, "_Him_. What the fuck is _that_ piece 'a crap doin' here?"

Uh oh.

Yep, he was definitely pissed. Although weirdly it was kind of nice seeing him fiery, because at least that meant Bray hadn't broken him too bad.

"Think it's funny, huh asshole? Or do you like seein' me like this?"

Seth blinked in surprise,

"What? No, of course not. Look, I came here to help, okay?"

"_Help_?" Dean snorted, "Like you _helped_ bury my head into a concrete cinder block? Or like you _helped_ when Bray Wyatt crashed our Hell in a Cell match and beat the crap outta me? That your kinda _help_?"

Holy crap, I loved him angry.

Was that weird?

Probably. But I really, _really_ did. Almost as much as when he grinned and bit his tongue tip, which made his dimples pop out.

_Mmm_. I loved them the most.

Clearing my throat I tried to push back my lustiness. What was wrong with me anyway? He was chained up for god sakes and besides which, for once, Seth _wasn't_ being an asshole.

I mean, not that I knew of.

"Um, actually Seth found where you were. He went to Luke Harper right after Bray grabbed you and got him to tell us where the compound was."

"He did?" Dean blinked back at me, scrunch faced in confusion, which was honestly so cute I could have squealed at him.

"Uh huh."

"Fuck," he huffed after a moment's contemplation, since that had long been his favorite word and not that I could blame him for being bewildered since it _had_ been a pretty wild twenty four hours, "So does that mean I can't hate him? Because honestly, I still wanna hate him."

Seth frowned,

"_Hey_ – ,"

"Then you go ahead and keep on hating him brother," Roman rumbled back with a teasing little grin, tousling Dean's hair which had already been sticky, but which he managed to make stick up like a cockerel in heat.

Seth threw his hands up,

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm an asshole, alright? Now can we get out of here?"

"Love to," Dean huffed, before rattling his cuffs again, "But in case you forgot I'm a little freakin' tied up."

Seth rolled his eyes,

"I know _that_ moron. Which is why we need to split up and look for the keys. Roman, take Matt and go and check the top floor out. Lauren, you're with me."

We all protested at once.

"What? _I_ can't go. Who'll film all the action?"

"Somebody needs to stay here with Dean."

"Hey, no one is takin' my wife freakin' _anywhere_. Least of all _you_ Rollins."

Seth pinched his brow,

"_Fine_. Roman take Matt. Lauren, stay here with Ambrose. Everybody happy?"

"Uh, I'm not," Matt put up a hand, the one that was holding the video camera, which for a second got nothing but rafters and grime. Roman reached out and then pushed it back down again as Matt blinked, "But – ,"

Roman shook his big head, then carefully untangled the precious piece of hardware, which he handed to me for safe keeping.

"Come on man."

Steering him from the room with a hand on his neckline, kind of like a lioness holding a cub, Roman eased my willowy friend across the threshold as Matt started to panic,

"Please. I'm too young to die and there are still too many awesome things I have to do yet. Like become the first gay on _The Bachelor_ and getting Tom Cruise to come out of the closet and being given a star on the Gay Walk of Fame."

Not that I blamed him for being reluctant, since even Seth stood in the doorway for a beat, looking just a _teensy_ tiny bit nervous as Matt's protests echoed off the walls then shrank away.

Dean smirked back at him like an ass. But a cute one, which made it okay.

"Problem asshole?"

"_No_," Seth snapped. Or wait a minute, lied. He was definitely lying,

"Because from here it _kinda_ looks like you're scared."

Seth's head snapped round to shoot Dean a death glare so quickly that his brittle bleached streak nearly broke off, which I guessed would eventually be precisely what happened.

Middle of a match and just –

Poof.

No more blonde.

"For your information," he shot back at us testily, pulling his stupid leather glovelets back on, like an art thief plotting to steal the Mona Lisa, or an elderly woman before an afternoon drive, "I _happen_ to like to think about my next move before I make it. Since unlike _you_ I'm not a god damn lunatic. I'm measured and controlled and – ,"

A bird fluttered suddenly, probably the same lost pigeon from before, but as it _cooed_ and then flashed past Seth's face in the corridor, he threw up his arms and let out a nasally scream.

"_Argh_ – ,"

Dean snorted,

"Ho sure. Yeah you're _real_ controlled and measured. Princess, you see how controlled and measured Rollins is?"

"Fuck you Dean," Seth huffed in response to him, running his leather gloved hands through his hair, which I guessed was a last minute spot check for bird poop, before stomping off and slamming the door behind him.

_Bang_.

The noise blasted out like a bomb around the warehouse and then echoed back in through the crumbling bricks and the mesh that Dean's bruised wrists were cuffed up to, which jangled at his back and I guessed must have hurt, since he hissed a sharp curse out and then slammed his back into it to try and make it stop.

"Oh god," I panicked, "Are you okay? Can I help or ooh, I know, sing to distract you?"

_Sing_?

Okay, so maybe not my _best_ idea, since as anyone who had stood next to me in choir could attest to, my vocal stylings weren't much known for their beauty or pitch. But still, I wasn't sure what else I could offer.

Except maybe more kissing?

Dean grunted,

"M' alright. An' anyway Princess, you just like freakin' _bein'_ here is good enough for me. I mean, don't get me wrong. I hate the fact you _have_ to freakin' be here, breathin' in stale hillbilly air an' that shit. But holy fuck am I ever glad to see you. For a second back there I thought Bray had grabbed you as well."

"No. Just you," I whispered, snuggling against him and breathing in his scent for the first time in days. Or for the first time in a day and a half to be specific. But which _felt_ like way more.

"So, how long have I been out?"

"Thirty three hours and twenty six minutes,"

Not that I had been counting or anything of course. Shuffling himself into a better position, which bumped my head up on his beautiful abs, Dean made a face and then snorted back wryly,

"Fuck. No wonder I need to take a piss."

His hair was still stuck up in a crazy looking Mohawk from where Roman had tousled it fondly before, so I reached up and carded it back against his head. Kind of like it had been back in his Shield days, or like Charlie Sheen had in the original _Wall Street_ film.

I bit my lip,

"Missed you,"

"Missed you too Princess," Dean snorted back at me, which made his _dimples_ pop out.

_Yay_.

Somewhere in my head a million tiny little Laurens were screaming like schoolgirls and running up and down, while red flashing lights and sirens went off around them.

_Awooga, awooga_.

Dimples off the starboard bow.

In fact I was _so_ busy listening to the sirens that I almost missed the footsteps coming our way. Hopefully with the key so we could get the heck out of there and move into our beautiful new house by the lake.

I bounced up grinning,

"Here they come. I bet it's Roman. I mean it _has_ to be right?"

"Lauren _wait_ — ," Dean rasped out, but just a fraction too late to stop me flinging the door wide and blinking up into a bearded looking face.

"Little bird?"

Okay, make that a bearded and very _surprised_ face.

Oh and ugly. It was that as well.

_Crud_.

Bray stepped towards me and I skittered back wildly, my blood running cold.

"How did you get in here?"

"I – ,"

In his hand he had a bag of what smelt like Chinese food, which I guessed he had bought so he could share some with Dean. Or else sit in front of him and eat super slowly while my husband drooled hungrily. Yep. That was probably it.

I tailed off and then squeaked, which wasn't an answer and Bray stepped in closer, his tone darkening.

"I _said_, how did you get in here Mockingbird?"

Dean strained hard against the cuffs,

"_Fuck_. Bray. Leave her alone. She isn't a freakin' part of this. _Wyatt_."

"_How_?" Bray lashed out and grabbed my wrist and my squeak became a full blooded scream of terror which took me back to the very first time I had been grabbed, on the night that Bray and his two evil henchmen had tried to frame Dean for torching Steph's car.

Those had been some good times.

_Kidding_.

"Who told bird about my hiding place?" Bray barked, losing his patience and starting to shake me as Dean struggled and yelled and tried to twist himself loose. Blood was running down his arms from the handcuffs, which I took as a bad sign for my prognosis.

"Fuck. _Bray_. I swear to freakin' god m' gonna rip your weasel eyes out an' then thread 'em on a chain for your sister to wear if you don't let go of my fuckin' _wife_ asshole."

"Who told you bird. _Who_?"

It was all getting too much. What with the shouting and the shaking and the heart attack that I was ninety percent sure was about to rip through my veins, which is why I did the only thing I could think of.

I buried my kneecap into Wyatt's balls.

"Oof – ,"

That worked. His hands fell away in an instant, as his horrible bearded face turned a shade of bright pink. Or, ooh no, maybe a weird type of purple, like a cross between a blueberry and a hairy eggplant, which I probably would have spent _more_ time considering, had my husband not barked at me,

"The fuck are you doin'? Lauren, _run_."

I nodded,

"Right,"

Then made a mad launch towards the doorway that _I_ felt would have probably put Black Beauty to shame, but which turned out to be, well, _not_ so impressive, since Wyatt simply snagged up my ankle.

"Ooh crap."

I fell head first down onto the concrete, breaking my fall with my arms, which _really_ hurt. Not that I had time to think about that though as Bray clambered up me and then _straddled my hips_. Dean was going half wild in the background,

"Fucker. Don't touch her. Wyatt, fuckin' _let her go_."

"I'm sorry little bird," Bray muttered above me as I wriggled super clumsily onto my back, which, yep okay, so maybe wasn't the _best_ plan since it meant I got a view of him up close.

_Way_ too close.

His hair slapped my face and I shuddered on instinct. Oh god. It was _slimy_. Was it supposed to be like that? Or was that some sort of poisonous gunk from the mothership?

I tried to push him off me,

"Bray _please_ – ,"

"I'm sorry little bird," he repeated again, which was super reassuring. Because what in the world was he apologizing for? For nabbing my husband, or the greasy wet hair thing? "But see, no one can know where Bray's hiding place is. Because, if they know, it isn't a secret and Bray needs his secrets."

He put his hands around my throat and every last drop of blood left in my body ran cold in an instant,

"No. Bray please. You can't."

Except that the _can't_ part came out in whisper as he cinched in his fingers. Because, oh god –

He _was_.

Bray Wyatt was actually, _physically_ choking me, while my husband looked on and went crazy.

"Bray. _Shit_. Don't do this. Jesus Christ. Bray, stop. I'll do anythin'. Fuck. Take me asshole. You hear me? Take _me_."

Honestly, I loved that he was trying to help me. Well, as much as he could with his wrists ripped to shreds and weirdly I was even sort of glad he was with me, since it meant that, you know, I wouldn't have to die alone.

_Hmm_. Was that too dark?

But I mean, it was true though, I was really super glad that he was stuck there with me and bitching and yelling and grumbling at me,

"Princess. Fuck. Lauren. You have to listen to me. _Fight_."

I mean, not that it did any good. I was _trying_, but Bray was too big and too angry and too _strong_. My lungs began to heave and the whole world turned purple.

Hey, like an eggplant.

Then nothing.

_Crack_.

Huh?

I blinked as a spade flew in out of nowhere. No really, a spade, as in an _actual_ spade and creamed Bray right in the back of his cerebrum, like a dart hitting the middle of a big ugly board.

Bullseye.

Bray seemed to freeze, but for a second nothing happened. He just kept on sitting there, straddling me, with his big meaty hands clamped in around my tonsils and a murderous sneer on his spit covered face. Except, then suddenly his eyes slid off me and crossed over above his nose — which was a heck of a party trick — and then his hold on my throat seemed to slacken, just enough to let me breathe.

I sucked in a gulp of air and then coughed as too much of it flooded my system.

But _ooh_, it was good though.

The spade jabbed out again and poked Bray nervously under a man boob, at which point the weight on my legs slithered off as Wyatt toppled over like a sack of potatoes and then landed in front of my rescuer.

I coughed,

"_Seth_?"

"Uh," he blinked, looking more surprised than I was, which, unless I had seen it, I would have said was pretty hard. His brown eyes shot up beneath his _not_ snapped off bleached strip and for a second they almost looked concerned, "Are you alright?"

Propping myself up onto my elbows, I nodded back shakily.

"Uh – uh huh."

Somewhere behind us there was another rush of footsteps and I tensed in preparation for a hillbilly cult or those white shrouded virgins I'd been waiting for earlier.

Then Roman stepped in and blinked,

"What in the world – ,"

Not that I could blame him for looking bewildered, given the weird sort of scene in the room. Like something straight out of an Agatha Christie.

_Murder in the Compound_.

He frowned,

"What the hell is going on?"

In his fingers he was holding a jangling key cuff, which seemed to wink across the room in the light, since the second he saw it Dean started going crazy and pulling at the meshing,

"Uce. Fuck. Lemme out. Get these things off me. I mean it. Get 'em off me."

"Whoa. Hey, take it easy babe."

Ducking down next to him Roman slotted the key in and then wiggled it clumsily until the handcuffs unlocked. At which point Dean ripped out of them wildly and then scrambled across the concrete to haul me into his arms.

"_Fuck_. Ho Princess. I fuckin' thought he was gonna kill you."

"M-me too," I croaked, nuzzling deep into his chest and not even caring that his handcuff bloodied fingers were roughly and relentlessly stroking my hair. Somewhere in the background, Matt panted in finally, holding his stomach and wincing.

"Cramp. Cramp – oh."

The video camera, which had been lost in the madness, was lying on its side by the step for the door so Matty picked it up and then brushed all the dust off. The red light was still on. Had it been filming all this time?

"Holy fuck," Dean kissed my head fiercely as I reached up and grabbed a tight hold of his wrist, needing to physically glue myself to him.

"Dean?"

"You're okay Lauren. Jesus _fuck_. You're okay."

I shook my head.

That wasn't the problem. Or at least, not the main one. Because I _knew_ I was okay and I knew that Dean was okay and that we _all_ were.

Well, almost all of us.

"What do we do about Bray?"

* * *

**Find out how I choose to wrap up Dean's 2014 rivalry with Bray Wyatt next week folks!**


	7. Redemption

**Here we are again folks. Hope you're all keeping safe and well. Only one more chapter left after this one and yes, I know it's been short, but there was something I needed to do in this story and I hope by the end of this chapter, you'll see what it was!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Nope, he's too good off a bad guy to kill off. But he certainly might wish he was dead by the end of it!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Yep, all the drama in that last one!**

**Rebel8954, Well, we all know that Seth loves to gloat. Although in this chapter it's three on one, so he might not get away with as much of his usual bullshit as he would like!**

**Mandy, Aww, well I'm glad my story made me you smile, especially with everything going on right now. It's no wonder your mental health has taken a hit, the world is a scary place at the moment. Still, I hope this chapter helps you this week too. It's got lots of Dean and Lauren!**

**Skovko, Hahaha! A little weird, but a cool idea! Now I wish I'd written that in there! **

**Debwood-1999, Welcome back! Only a short story this time I'm afraid, but I do have more ideas for Dean and Lauren on the horizon and I've certainly missed writing them. As for Bray? I think he's stuck between seeing Lauren as the sweet, untouched girl from before and the traitor who picked Dean over him. Let's just say his thinking isn't straight forward. It's Bray after all!**

**XwwecoyoteX, That's the motto of the story. Always have The Shield there to protect you if you're an untrained fighter/wrestler going into dangerous situations. It's a life lesson I will gladly follow! Hopefully some more giggles in this chapter too *crosses fingers***

**Minnie1015, Haha, nope, no big cliffhangers last week and no wereDeans either (sorry about that!) still, this week I present cuteDean and fiestyDean for your viewing pleasure! (I'm pretty sure that Seth's blonde streak could take out someone's eye at this point!)**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Aww, thank you! I'll gladly take all of those compliments! Nothing too super epic here (I don't think) but there are some funny bits and mostly I hope it's satisfying!**

**Time for some payback...**

* * *

**Redemption**

In total it took us eleven hours and six minutes to make it from New Jersey to Grand Rapids for the show. Which included a pretty near miss in Toledo and a definite red light skip in Kalamazoo.

Seth and Roman took the driving between them, while Matt sat in the front with a computer on his lap, desperately trying to somehow download and edit all the footage he had taken and cursing at potholes.

"Oh come the fuck on. I'm trying to make a little magic here people. Do you think Vincente Minnelli had to put up with this shit?"

"No, but I bet he wasn't such a pain in the ass either," Seth mumbled bitterly from behind the wheel.

"Excuse you, what?"

"Nothing Matt. Hey, he didn't say anything," Roman lied smoothly from beside us in the back, before turning to Seth with an older brother death glare that I hadn't seen him use since The Shield had broken up, "And you, just drive the damn car already."

Seth grumbled something at him and he raised an eyebrow,

"What?"

"I said _okay_ man."

"Damn straight you did," Roman nodded. Because honestly sometimes he was almost _too_ cool. With his big dark brows and his no nonsense dad vibes that scared everyone else.

Well, everyone except me.

He winked and then glanced down at my slumbering husband, who was laid longways across the seat with his head in my lap. Because we had brought his one travel bag with us, along with our own cases when we had bolted out of Raw, Dean had been able to change into a fresh t-shirt and a baggy pair of jeans when Seth had pulled up for gas and where he'd _finally_ been able to drain his poor bladder and stock up on Gatorade and a million protein bars. But since then he'd been sleeping. On and off for the most part. Or at least, when he hadn't been jolting awake, bewildered about where we were and what was happening and mostly concerned with _me_ being okay.

"Hey Princess?" he had grumbled, somewhere outside of Harrisburg, blinking up at me in groggy suspicion, "You okay? 'Cos I had like, this freakin' weird dream about Wyatt an' – ,"

I had swept back his hair and then smiled,

"I'm fine. See? No Wyatt. Don't worry. Just go back to sleep Dean."

Which he had. Maybe for _too_ long.

"He good?" Roman asked, obviously noticing me bite my lip a little as I rubbed my thumb absently over his cheek and then brushed the bump on the fringe of his hairline from where Bray had whacked him over the head. Not that Dean could remember what with though, since that had been the part of their TLC match when the lights had gone out all of a sudden and started the whole darn nightmare off.

_Bam_.

From there he had woken up chained in the compound as he had managed to tell us before the weariness had kicked in. Except for a few recollections in between that of being bounced round in the back of a grubby transit van.

I sucked in a breath and then bit back _that_ image before nodding at Roman with what I hoped was a smile.

"Yep. I mean, I _think_ so anyway. He's still asleep, but then again he must be pretty tired. Which is normal right? Um, _this_. Is — is this normal?"

"It sure is baby girl," the Big Dog chuckled back and the fact that he was chuckling almost instantly calmed me down again, since the only other person who loved Dean as much as I did – although you know in a very different way – was the big Samoan sat beside me with Dean's feet up on his lap, "Uce here will be fine. I mean, you know how thick that head is."

He shot a look at the front towards Seth, who had clearly been watching the exchange in the rear view. And who groaned,

"Are we _still_ talking about the cinder block thing? Because considering I hauled my ass all the way out here to help you save Ambrose from Bray god damn Wyatt, don't you think that we can _maybe_ forget that?"

Dean blew out a snort from my thigh chub,

"Nope," it made me start a little since I thought he'd been sleeping. Which it certainly _looked_ like since his eyes were still closed and wait, did that mean he had heard _me_ worrying? "An m' fine by the way Princess."

Hmm. Evidently yes.

From up in the front Seth threw a testy hand up, or to be more specific a leather clad hand, since apparently he really _was _like an elderly grandad who liked to put gloves on before a long drive.

Had he always done that? Because if he _had_ then I liked to think I would have noticed it at some point. Wouldn't I?

"Listen Dean," Seth started with a huff, like he did in his promos, the angry heel promos that he _happened_ to have been busy whipping out for months as he tried to make everyone believe that he hated us and that The Shield had been a miserable blight on his life.

Luckily however, Dean beat him right to it,

"An' what the fuck is up with you callin' me _Dean_? I thought it was only that _Ambrose_ shit these days."

I cleared my throat helpfully,

"And he's calling Roman _uce_."

Seth's brown eyes flickered up to the rear view and fixed me with a look that probably would have withered oak. Except not even _that_ looked as hateful as it had done just a few months before in the heat of their feud.

Hacking a cough out, Seth shrugged super awkwardly,

"So? It's not like it means anything. That's your _name_ moron. What else would I call you?"

"So why the fuck are you here?"

Seth tensed up,

"What?"

Dean's blue eyes had sprung back open, only this time they looked brighter and fully alert. Which, for _me_ at least was a good thing. But for Seth on the other hand? Yeah, not so much.

Dean curled his lip up,

"Don't give me that asshole. You freakin' heard me. I said why are you here? If this whole thing was such a huge fuckin' ball ache, then why the hell did you come?"

I sucked my lip in.

_Uh oh_.

Because when _I_ had asked Seth pretty much the same question as we had bailed out of Raw twenty two hours before, I had ended up with the _fish in a barrel _speech about how Seth was only saving Dean for himself so he could keep on trying to screw us all over, which neither me or Roman had taken too well. Dean would have probably gone off like a rocket.

Except Seth _didn't_ say it. He just sort of –

Shrugged.

"Look whatever man, okay? I have my reasons and oh come on lady, learn how to drive."

He hit the horn and then held his palm on it, as a minivan careered haphazardly across the road, its bumper stickered butt passing way too close in front of us, complete with _honk if you love Jesus_ and _beware, soccer mom on board._

"Hey," Matt barked as his laptop slid sideways and off his kneecaps into the passenger side door. Not that Seth could hear over all of the honking, because as it turned out, he loved Jesus a lot. Not that Dean was content with the brush off.

"Nope. Not a good enough answer asshole. _Why_?"

Really therefore, it was probably the wrong time for me to choose to bellow my theory at them all, given all the grousing and the shouting and the honking, but which is what I did anyway.

"Because he still cares."

Instantly everything stopped dead around me. Or okay, not _everything_ which was probably best, since we were driving at seventy nine miles an hour down I-96 to make Grand Rapids before the show and Seth tuning out would have probably been fatal.

But he certainly stopped honking.

Dean frowned at me,

"He what?"

"He still cares," I repeated a little quieter, you know, on account of the no honking thing. Except _wow_ now the car was almost _too_ quiet, "He always has but he just couldn't admit it to himself. In case he screwed up his chance at being champion. But I mean, it's super obvious. He _totally_ cares. Like when he came by to see me in hospital after the chair thing."

"He did _what_?" Dean snarled back, since I might have forgotten to mention that part of it. But hey, I mean, I _had_ been concussed after all. Clearing my throat I patted his shoulder, his thick manly shoulder and then carried on.

Ahem.

"_Plus_ he ruined the wedding with Randy _and_ told me to tell you about the Elliott texts and _that's_ why he came along to help us find Wyatt. Not so he can beat you, but because he still _cares_."

_Ha_. Eat your heart out Jessica Fletcher. Roman raised a brow towards the rear view,

"That true?"

In response Seth nearly squirmed clean out of his seatbelt and then went near dog whistle levels of shrill. Like he had done that time they had talked about sheep masks. Or no wait, was it llama masks? Well, either way, Seth went shrill.

"_What_? Damn it Lauren will you quit keep on saying that? Read my lips," he turned his head, which probably wasn't the best of decisions considering that _beware, soccer mom_ was still around, although frankly he could have said pretty much anything and I wouldn't have believed him. Not for a second, "I. Do. Not. Care. I mean why the hell _would_ I when I have everything I wanted? I have fame, I have the briefcase. I'm going straight to the top. And besides, it's not like I'm on my own out there. I have people. I have J and J. I mean, not that they come on the road or train with me and they don't play that idiot yellow car game and sure it's not the same as having my _brothers_, but – ,"

Dean interrupted him,

"_Ho_. Back it up. Is this you sayin' you freakin' _miss_ us or somethin'? _Dude_. You _curb stomped_ me in the head."

"But only because he cared and didn't know to handle it," I offered super helpfully. Or not as it turned out, since Seth shot me yet _another_ death glare in the rear view.

"Do you _want_ to walk to Michigan?"

"Hey, no threatenin' my wife."

Reaching up, Dean flicked him hard on the earlobe. Only not like a person who hated his guts, or who two months before had been pelting him with hot dogs and trying to stove his head in with a dented metal case. Because instead it was more like two bickering brothers. Which is what they always _had_ been and maybe _could_ be again.

I bit my bottom lip and then tried to sound casual,

"_Soooo_," too casual. Bail out, bail out, "Does this mean that Seth is maybe _possibly_ forgiven?"

Dean blinked back up at me. _God_ I loved him so much. With his unkempt half blonde, half brown tangle and his stubble and the stupid empty piercing in his ear and the way I always, _always_ knew what he was thinking and –

"Nope."

"But," I gaped in bewilderment, "He _cares_."

"Lauren," uh oh, Dean was using my first name, which meant that he was serious, or trying to spell something out, "He works for your old man an' Stephanie, remember? He's one of _them_ now."

Matty shrugged,

"I don't know."

Honestly I had almost forgotten he was with us he had been so super quiet since the _Vincente Minnelli_ thing. Except for the soft tap-tap of the keyboard as he worked on the reason we were racing towards the show and tried to edit camera footage together. Or whatever the technical term for that was.

Splice? I wanted to say it was _splicing_.

Either way, he shrugged.

"Because if _I_ were you and trying to fight Hunter and his bitch wife Stephanie, then I would _definitely_ want to have a friend on the inside. Someone who could tell me what the two of them were up to so they couldn't _shotgun wedding_ or try to kidnap me again."

Roman raised a brow,

"I mean, it's not the _worst_ idea ever."

"_What_?" Seth barked in his upper soprano tones again. Or wait a second, because was it a _camel_ mask? "And why in the world would I do that and risk my shot at being the champion? Do you _even_ know what Hunter and Stephanie would do to me if they found out I was a god damn snitch? I mean, what exactly would _I_ be getting out of this?"

"Well, I guess you could train with us sometime," Roman offered, "Or maybe hit the road with us once in a while."

"Oh come _on_," Dean huffed back from my lap like a child as he waved a loose hand and then pouted. _Ugh. Cute_, "You seriously think we could ever trust Rollins after that crap he pulled on us last time? Or what if he's actually like, a freakin' _double agent_? Tellin' _us_ one thing then goin' back to Hunter and Steph?"

Roman grinned and then patted his stomach like a father trying to soothe his grumbling kid, which I guess the Big Dog had more experience than most in. Um, with his daughter I meant. Not Dean.

"Which is why if he is then you'll hurt him for us, right babe?"

"Freakin' murder his ass," Dean grumbled in response and was it weird that I found that kind of a turn on?

Possibly, yes. But, _eh_. There it was.

"So does that sound like we maybe got ourselves a deal here?" Roman asked, looking backwards and forwards between the pair. Dean shrugged loosely and Seth kind of snorted, but he didn't say _no_, which was a positive.

"Whatever man."

From out of the window on the other side of the highway, a taxi passed by in a bright shade of gold and so biting my lip, I leaned forward swiftly and punched Seth in the arm. Super hard.

"_Yellow car_."

"God damn it Lauren," he snarled in response to me, but when I looked in the rear view he was smiling as well. Or I mean, right up until the point he saw me. And then scowled instead.

"Taxi cabs don't count."

"Oops."

By the time we made it to the Van Andel Arena, it was only six minutes and twelve seconds to the show, which is why Seth screeched up to the backstage performers entrance and then screamed like an army drill sergeant,

"Go, go, go – ,"

Matt, Dean and I scrambled out of the rental. Or okay fine, _they_ scrambled whereas I kind of fell. Because hey, it had been a long drive from New Jersey and at some point my butt and my legs had gone numb. Not that having a hot wrestler draped over them for most of the journey had probably helped. I mean, not that I _minded_ having a hot wrestler draped over my legs. If that wrestler was Dean.

There was a guy on the door with a hat marked _security_, slumped and looking super bored, although he quickly straightened up as we pelted towards him and then cleared his throat,

"Security passes?"

_Oh crap_.

Mine and Dean's were still back in rental in the bags we had stupidly tossed into the trunk. Which meant we would have to use our natural skills and cunning to get into the building. Or possibly not since Dean simply pushed the guy aside with his shoulder and a hot looking glare.

"Get outta here dude."

Matt flashed his pass which, darn _of course_ he had with him, since he'd been wearing his lanyard basically everywhere nonstop from the moment they had changed his job description from _runner_ to the far more impressive sounding _junior floor manager_. I, on the other hand had neither the kind of lanyard, _or_ the type of shoulders for shoving fully grown men and so simply pulled out my old motheaten library card and then smiled awkwardly.

"Um, I'm with them."

Inside the corridors were buzzing with people. The way they always did right before a live show and when the backstage staff were madly trying to find the wrestlers, or tape, or outfits or some much needed prop. A couple of them looked our way as we strode in there, but kind of disappointingly no one much seemed to care that Dean – who _hello_, had been _freaking kidnapped_ – had waltzed back in from out of nowhere.

Well _I_ cared.

Turning for gorilla like a muscular bloodhound – although who was I kidding? Dean was totally a mutt. Ooh, like Dodger from _Oliver and Company_ – Dean hooked my elbow and pulled me in close, keeping me against him as Matt trotted behind us with the laptop beneath his arm,

"Okay, so here's the freakin' plan. Princess you an' me are gonna go out there an' keep 'em talkin'."

I nodded,

"Got it."

He threw me a grin and I got a teensy _tiny_ little light headed. Because had I mentioned the part where I loved him to death?

"Meanwhile Matt here is gonna get to the production desk and make sure that video feed is up an' workin', right?"

"Right," Matt nodded back at him, patting the laptop he had been practically slaving over for the previous twelve hours. Well, except for that half an hour in traffic, where he'd been making eyes at the guy in the car next to ours, who'd had his hair tied up in a man bun and so therefore, by Matt's reasoning _had_ to be gay.

Well, either that or a fellow hairy wrestler, although tragically now we would probably never know.

I bit my lip,

"Uh Dean, what _exactly_ do we talk about?"

My husband tweaked it out and then rubbed it with his thumb. Either because he didn't want me to hurt myself, or else because it made him feel things _down there_.

Mmm. Note to self. Bite lip down more often.

"Don't worry about it Princess," he winked in response, pulling me to a stop in the middle of the hallway, "I got a couple of ideas. Trust me?"

"Always," I nodded back, which made him snort and then hook up my belt loop to drag me suddenly into his chest. The second I was there he cupped my cheeks and then kissed me and for a moment I think time may have actually stopped. Or at least, it certainly _felt_ like it anyway. Then Matt cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly,

"Ooo-kay. So, uh, on _that_ note I should probably get moving. But don't worry, I totally know what I'm doing," he spun away briskly and barked his shin on a light box, which startled him and then made him shriek out in fright, before stopping and looking back to see if we'd noticed. Which yep, we had, "Still know what I'm doing."

Dean rolled his eyes and so I thumbed his cheek sweetly until his handsome baby blues drifted back my way.

_Ooh_.

I kissed him again,

"Did I mention I missed you? Because, I mean, I really, _really_ did. For a second I thought I would to have to live in Wisconsin in our brand new house by the lake on my own. Except not on my own _own_ because I would have had Boomer and I probably would have bought a kitten or some ducks. Or maybe that cute little pig I always wanted or – ,"

"Princess."

"Yes?"

Dean spun me around and then pulled me grinning with what I hoped was love and fondness through the maze of white corridors,

"No more fuckin' pets."

Darn.

By the time we strode through into gorilla, or okay, so Dean strode while I scampered behind, but holding his hand which was pretty much essential, the Smackdown theme music was already blaring out and so was the roar of the crowd in the background and the blast of the opening pyrotechnics going off, which scared the life out of me and nearly half killed me. Because, oh Holy Moses we were super _super_ late. The Bella twins were stood looking bland by the curtain, stretching and practising some last minute moves, since obviously the two of them were first up that evening, to bitch about something or some_one_ no doubt.

Or they _had _been at least, before Dean blew right past them and out onto the ramp with me trotting behind.

"_Hey_."

The Smackdown theme music cut off with a _thunk_ noise as someone hustled _Lunatic Rage_ on instead and instantly the packed out arena around us burst out in whoops and cheers, since the fans cared at least. I mean, _most_ of them anyway,

"Whoo Lauren, get your boobs out."

Oh, come on. Because was it the same guy showing up in each front row, or did every arena have a sex pest of their own, like some sort of weird variation on a mascot? Dean shot the guy a pretty murderous look and then waited until I was safe up the ring steps before swinging in ahead of me to hold down the ropes, since I had never really mastered looking cool while I did it. Most of the time I was just hoping not to trip.

Cole and JBL were blinking up from the announce desk, so I waved at them brightly as someone handed Dean a mike and as the crowd in the Grand Rapids hushed up again suddenly, wanting to hear what my man had to say and probably wondering what had happened to Wyatt.

Dean threw his hands out,

"Look who's back."

He grinned and his dimples popped out way too cutely. My inner schoolgirls screamed and so too did the fans. Except theirs was more of a cheer than a squeal.

Wait. _Did_ men even squeal?

"But m' gonna be straight," Dean shrugged, starting to rub at his neckline in a pent up little tick that moved up into his hair, "Had a kinda rough night since the last time you saw me. Bein' kidnapped by a hillbilly will do that to ya I guess. Truth is, I wasn't sure I was gonna make it outta there. But you see, I got somethin' that Bray Wyatt will never have,"

Hmm. I blinked and then guessed he meant hygiene, or maybe sex appeal, since Bray struggled with those.

Except nope.

"I got a wife," Dean carried on, spinning around to smirk at me as the cameras zoomed in on my baffled looking face, "Best damn wife in the whole freakin' universe, which is why I am always, freakin' _always _gonna win. Because unlike Bray Wyatt, I got somethin' to fight for. Hey, which reminds me. Where is Wyatt anyway?"

Spinning around like an absolute loser, but you know, a really cute one which made it okay, Dean began to pat at his pockets, like he had maybe left the stove on or forgotten his keys.

"Princess, have you seen Bray Wyatt?" he frowned at me, hamming it up as I shook my head.

No.

Oh and giggled, because I was totally giggling. Dean cupped his chin in confusion.

"Well that's weird, because, y' know, I coulda sworn that bearded freak was here somewhere an', wait," he snapped his fingers and then slapped his own head, "Princess, we left him back at the compound."

I pulled my very best _oh no_ face, which I could do now, you know, because I was an actress. Sort of. Well, I had been in movie at least. Our still to be released husband and wife action movie, which Vince had talked us into five months before. Or blackmailed. Yep. That was it. I meant blackmailed, but on the plus side some of the skills had worn off. Personally I think I looked super concerned about Wyatt. Or at least, Dean thought so, since he grinned at me.

_Cute_.

"Do you think the people in Grand Rapids wanna see him?" he asked as a furious _yes_ chant went up around the room, like Daniel Bryan was out there leading them. Dean shrugged, "Nah. I don't think they do. Because I _said_ do you people wanna see freakin' Wyatt an' see what happens to people who try an' mess with my girl, an' mess with me an' mess with my family?"

He finished the question on a husky voiced yell and the audience nearly went wild in excitement.

He nodded,

"Okay that's better. Matthew, fire up the screen."

Instantly an image flashed up on the titantron. But not just any image. It was the same one from before, showing a man handcuffed to some meshing, in a dark and _fusty_ looking brick room. Over his head there was a single dim lightbulb, but the rest of the room was stripped totally bare and even just seeing it up there made me shudder, as I remembered Bray's hands cinching in around my neck and the look on his face as he had pinned me beneath him.

Except that he _couldn't_ try and hurt me this time. Because that was who was there, marooned down the concrete with an extra thick strip of duct tape over his mouth.

My husband barked into the mike,

"Y' hear me Wyatt? You hear what I said about messin' with me?" Bray's head bobbed up and then glared into the camera, the same one he had used to send the message the night before, which would teach him for trying to be all technological.

I mean, who did he think he was? The Shield?

"This freakin' feud of yours is over, an' guess what asshole?" he stopped to hook me in across the ring and then wrapped a big loving arm around my shoulders, before smirking right into the camera.

"I win."

* * *

**Yep, ladies and gentlemen, Seth is now back with the boys...well, sort of. He's on probation on least, but not as apart from the team as he used to be. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey!**

**Final chapter to wrap things off next week and after that we'll get back to a few Shield AU Police oneshots. Stay safe until then!**


	8. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Here we have it folks. Last Lauren and Dean chapter and some (hopefully) good feels for you all. Next week, we're back to the Shield Police oneshots, so hopefully I'll see you there!**

**Mandy, Aww, glad you liked that last chapter. I've missed Lauren being with all of the Shield boys, so I enjoyed that chapter too. Me and mum are doing okay, just enjoying the time away from work really. Sounds like it's very busy where you are, but it's always good to have lots going on to keep us busy. Keep smiling and as always, thank you for reading and reviewing so very faithfully.**

**Rebel8954, Yep, Dean and Seth are too stubborn for their own good. Although I have to admit, I do love bratty Seth! Lauren is definitely the mother in this situation, with Roman being the dad to make sure everyone plays nice! Glad you like you story and thank you SOOO much for reviewing.**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Awww, thank you so much for reading and reviewing and especially for being so supportive. Means a lot :-)**

**Wolfgirl2013, Yep, Seth is definitely on probation until he can prove he's no longer a (total) weasel! In the meantime though, thank you again for the time you take to read and review each week. I really appreciate it.**

**Skovko, 2014/2015 was as untrustworthy as they come. But if I'm sticking in kayfabe, I feel like 2017 Seth had to come from somewhere. I'm just moving the process on. But never fear, Seth will keep being his bratty self in future installments! Change doesn't happen overnight after all! In other news, THANK YOU for reading and reviewing, as ever *big hugs***

**Minnie1015, Aww, thank you. Google Maps is definitely my friend and I'm glad it didn't let me down (especially since you've been to places I'm mentioning, so I must have passed the test. Yay!) Haha, I knew how happy you would be about the Police stories, although it has been a long time since I last posted one! Anyway, I'll round off by the saying the obvious...THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for always being there, reading and making me feel like I'm actually good at this writing lark :-)**

**HannonsPen, Haha, yep, you can't blink with me around, because before you know it, I'll have nearly a whole story out! But yes, Lauren is finally making some good decisions and apparently so are Dean and Seth (Roman always makes good decisions) I'm proud of all of them! Thank you for always being there cheering Lauren on!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Yep, the gang is (sort of, tenatively) back together and I'm looking forward to following how they get on in future stories. But you're right, for now we're back in the police world (I've missed those too!) Thank you soooooo very, very much for your reviews and hopefully I'll see you next week too!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Oh no, I'm sorry to hear about your favourite YouTuber. It's always sad when someone we follow leaves us before their time. Hope you're holding up okay. As always, thank you for following my little stories and I hope this last chapter can cheer you up a bit with good feels!**

**For the last time on this one then...**

* * *

**Home Is Where The Heart Is**

"Lauren, whoa. Go easy on the clutch here. Change freakin' gears – ,"

"I can't," I shrieked back, grappling with the stick shift on the clunky old rental we had hired back in Vegas to transport our stuff. Dean had been driving pretty solidly from Nevada, but on hitting Wisconsin he had handed me the ropes in response to me having wound him down since Nebraska. Except it turned out to be a lot more tricky than I had thought,

"Uh, Lauren," Dean grunted as we chugged towards a hairpin on the road that flanked the waters of my little hometown, "Not that m' like, _freakin' out_ here or anythin', but were you thinkin' of breakin' or – ?"

"I _am_," I offered back, stamping repeatedly on the stiff and creaky pedal but getting nothing from it.

"Lauren – ," Dean barked, "Oh holy fuck."

"Hold on," I chirped brightly, wrenching hard on the steering wheel, "This last turn might be pretty tight."

I spun us hard off the road like a stunt driver and then caught the grass verge as we tore through the gates and down the long, lush tree shaded driveway, before pulling up in a dust plume outside our new house, panting and with Dean cranking hard on the parking brake.

I blinked in surprise at him.

"Oh, that'll work."

Our rescue pooch Boomer was sitting beside him with his head poked out the window and with his tail in my face, since he was just happy to be there for the adventure. And some adventure it was. Dean and I were moving house. Finally the Ambroses were Wisconsin side and leaving Las Vegas behind us for good. And best of all was our brand new married domicile, which was a sprawling three floor beauty set in the hill beside the lake and surrounded by trees and lush grass and by nature, which was why I was grinning.

Dean not so much.

"_Fuck_."

"Oh stop overreacting you baby," I chided him mildly, slapping his chest then unclipping my belt and flinging the door wide, "I totally had it all under control."

Dean snorted,

"Princess, that was like NASCAR."

Poking my tongue out I hopped down from the driver's side and then squeaked as Dean tried to haul me towards him,

"Hey trouble, c' mere,"

"Nope."

I slammed the door shut and then tried to beat him in a sprint around the rental, which he easily matched, since he was an athlete after all, before reaching out and pulling me backwards by my belt loops so that the pair of us fell up clumsily against the hood.

"Gotcha," he grinned, pinning my hips as I giggled and then dropping his head down into my neck. The brim at the base of his backwards turned trucker cap scratched along my cheek as he blew breaths across my neck and then made me squirm like a ticklish child.

"Dean. _Nooo_ stop, I can't breathe. Boomer help," in response our rescue pooch wagged his tail happily, then promptly went and peed against the nearest tall tree, which, okay, so wasn't the save I had hoped for, but was something at least. I nodded at him, "Good boy."

"Hey, do I get one of those?" Dean grinned back adorably, lowering his hands to his zipper and then making out like he was going to take a leak too.

I rolled my eyes,

_Men_.

"Um, hello? Excuse me mister, not on my beautiful brand new front lawn you don't and besides, we have three and a half bathrooms, remember?"

"Killjoy," he murmured before lifting me up and pulling me in against his chest in full bridal style as I squeaked in alarm at the change, "Come on then wife. Guess we'd better freakin' check this new house out an' make sure it's the one we bought."

I giggled,

"Okay."

Our brand new keys were tucked in his shirt pocket and so I fished them out with a tweak of his pec and then winked at him, because he was my husband and so luckily I was fully allowed to do that.

He snorted,

"You know, we should probably have a talk one of these days about those wanderin' hands you got. Because what am I here? Like, a piece of meat or somethin'?"

I thought for a second and then nodded,

"Yep."

With Boomer in tow we crunched over the driveway then stopped at the door where Dean set me back down and where weirdly I suddenly came over all nervous. Because what if I didn't like the house anymore? Or what if I didn't get the same homey feeling, or had made us move from Vegas and buy something that was wrong?

Dean frowned at me,

"Lauren?"

I thrust the keys back towards him,

"You do it. I'm too nervous."

"Easy baby," he rumbled back, plucking them from my hands but then moving in closer so that his arms were around me with his chest to my spine. He put the keys in and then pushed the door open, which naturally Boomer keenly pushed in through first, but Dean prodded me next and so I sucked a deep breath in and then stepped across the threshold into our brand new married home, which –

Okay, yep.

Looked as great as I remembered it.

"I can't believe we bought a real house," I grinned, whispering it into the double height entrance with its fireplace and the doors onto the backyard beyond. There were stairs on the right and doors into the office, with more to the left where the kitchen and snug were. All of which were flanked by the wraparound terrace with views out across the lake,

Dean kissed my neck,

"Sure did," he rumbled, before pillowing me backwards into his chest, "But I mean like, you're happy right? Not havin' freakin' regrets or any of that shit?"

I shook my head

"Nope. None. I love it so much and the views and the space and – ,"

"I meant 'bout gettin married."

"_What_?" I barked in horrified tones, whirling myself like a spinning top towards him which put us nose tip to nose tip and, _ooh mama_, hello. Dear god he was hot. With his ridiculous dimples and his baby blue peepers which were frowning at me and wait a minute. Was he actually serious? I gaped at him, "What? No. Of course I'm not. How could you think that after everything that's happened and after everything we've been through? I love you."

He grinned

"I know, but sometimes it's just kinda nice to hear you say it."

"Moron," I huffed as he leaned in and kissed my head, sweeping my bangs back to plant a smooch above my eyebrow with an exaggerated _mwah_ sound.

Then he twanged my bra strap

"_Hey_ – ,"

"Come on Princess, let's get our crap unloaded, before my weight bench is stolen by a bunch of raccoons, or before a moose eats your sexy little notebook, because we couldn't let _that _happen."

I grinned,

"I'm coming, wait up."

Because Dean had grown up always having to be thrifty and because most of my stuff was all still at my mom's, we had been able to cram all our _crap_ into the rental. Like Tetris except bigger and with everything we owned. Dean made sure to hand me down the lighter boxes. Because he loved me and _maybe_ because I was accident prone. But not even he could handle the big stuff. Like our mattress. Because that was a two person job. Or a one person and _me_ job, which was a whole different ballgame, as we discovered at the top of the staircase.

"Lauren,_ turn_."

"I _am_," I huffed back, "It's stuck on the doorframe. Although maybe if I – ," _bang_, "Ouch."

"Princess? You alright?"

His head popped up around the edge of the mattress which was a double sprung King and the comfiest thing in the world, but clearly not designed for staircases with turns in, or for husband and wife duos moving into new homes.

I pouted,

"Uh huh, but if you're thinking of kicking it, then don't in case you miss and hit the drywall instead."

Dean blinked,

"Huh. Okay, stand back a little."

"But I'm helping."

"Uh, sure you are Lauren," he lied, "But see, 'm about to shoulder charge this mutha, an' I don't wanna run my freakin' wife over."

"Good point," I nodded in agreement before stepping back a little and then giving him a thumbs up over the top, "Okay all clear, oh and I'm not sure if this helps things, but I was sort of _maybe_ thinking when we got the bed in that we could _possibly_ maybe have sexy time?"

"Holy fuck," Dean barked, "Why didn't you say that before?"

"Um," I shrugged, "Because I just thought of it. Why? Does it help?"

"Uh, you fuckin' _bet_ it does. One bed comin up here."

He launched himself against it with a hot and very tennis player worthy grunt. Or, at least I _figured_ he probably did anyway, based on the way the mattress pinged loose and then sailed into the bedroom too fast to stop it with Dean right behind it in a handsome looking blur. It hit the built-in closet and then toppled back over, almost tripping him up over the edge of as it stopped and making him windmill his arms for a second like Wile E Coyote.

"Oh, are you okay?" I asked, trying to help. Except as I stepped forward I fell over Boomer, who'd come to see what all the fuss was about, which made me crash right into my husband, so that we both tumbled down in a heap on the springs. Him with a grunt of either agony or startlement and me with my knee in his groin.

Oops. Agony it was.

"Um. Well," I winced, when the springs had stopped bouncing, "On the bright side I guess this means the mattress is in now."

Dean coughed,

"Fuck."

"Which _means_," I talked over him, "That we only have the table and the couches to go. Oh and the dresser and the sideboard and the bookcase."

Dean shook his head,

"Nope."

I blinked at him,

"_No_?"

Rolling towards me he put a hand down on the mattress, which trapped me underneath him so he could grin down at me. He was biting his tongue at the tip like a demon, which was a habit of his when he was being a child and which also made his dimples light up. Like fireflies. Or something more manly, like drywall or rock.

"Princess,"

"Dimples. I mean yes?"

He snorted,

"Wasn't there somethin _else_ we were gonna do first? Somethin' about when we got the bed in here?"

"Oh?" I blinked before realizing, "_Ohhhh_."

"Still wanna christen the new house baby?" Dean grumbled huskily, waggling his brows, which was, oh god, sooo cute and made certain _things_ tremble. I pretended it didn't and then tapped my lip,

"Hmmm. Well, I'm not sure. Because _technically_ speaking we only got the mattress part up here. The rest of the bed is still in the van and – ,"

"Lauren."

"Uh huh?"

Dean shut me up by kissing me, which was something he had found out worked pretty well most of the time and _especially_ in our brand new master bedroom. His lips slid achingly hot over mine and I pressed myself into them as he opened our mouths up into a teasing and helpless little 'o' and then slipped his tongue clean into the middle, in a teasing little flicker that did things. Good things. Good things _down there_ in the place I most wanted them. My hands cruised over the bulge of his arms and then clamped on hard like I was stranded in the ocean and needed something to keep me afloat. Except that my driftwood was grabbing a butt cheek. Oh and wasn't really driftwood but was actually Dean.

Operation _Make Love in the New House_ was official. Or _would_ have been had someone not called out from downstairs,

"Hello? Laurie sweetie? Is anybody in here?"

Dean and I pulled back and blinked at each other. _Crap_. Although before we had a chance to figure out what was happening, there was a second voice.

"Honey, you can't just _walk in_. I mean what if they're right in the middle of something?"

"With the front door wide open? Please."

_Idiot_.

I smacked my head which, okay hurt a lot more than I had figured. Dean pulled my hand down and then rubbed at the throb, because holy crap he was the best husband ever.

"Laurie?"

"Uh, we're coming," I called out, as Dean shot me a look of _what the hell did you do that for _and then dropped his head down into my shoulder with a grunt. I kissed it then reached down to tangle our hands up before pulling him from the mattress, "Come on handsome, let's roll."

Except before we could make it out into the hallway, he pulled me back and then tugged down my blouse hem with smirk. The blouse hem that had been pushed up around my bra cups.

"Oh," I nodded, with a blush, "Good call."

Boomer went first as we trudged down the staircase and then rounded the corner of our new entrance hall, where my best friend in the universe was stood waiting with her husband and my chubby baby godson.

She beamed,

"_There_ they are. Wisconsin's brand new favorite wrestler. Oh and his beautiful wife of course."

"Hi Kel."

As per usual she looked a million dollars, with her blonde hair carefully but messily mussed and with a tiny baby bump peeking out from her coat folds, because what was she now two, three months along? Flinging her arms out she dragged me against her in a literal best friend boob to boob crush. Or boob to _nose_ crush since she was rocking stilettos and I was only a minuscule five foot five.

"_Ugh. _I'm so glad you're home," she whispered tearfully, "I missed you. Ooh and we brought champagne."

"Oh thank god," my husband huffed huskily, greeting Brent with an uber manly fist bump before snaffling the extra-large magnum from his hand, "Now where the fuck did we put the fuckin' glasses?"

"Box in the kitchen beside the cooker," I offered back, or more like _mumbled _since I was being smothered against my second favorite person in the world, "Kel? Can't breathe."

"Oops, sorry sweetie," she winced at me guiltily, before letting me go and then blinking, "Laurie this place – ,"

I nodded,

"I know, I mean what with the lake views and the wraparound terrace and did I mention my triple sink? Triple, Kelly. _Triple_," I repeated crossing over to where Brent was and then giving him a kiss on the cheek, "Hey."

"Hi sweetie," he smiled back before jiggling my baby godson, who was laughing at Boomer trying to snuffle his feet, "Roger come on, say hello to Auntie Lauren."

I gasped,

"I can't believe he's getting so big _and_ that he's going to be an older brother."

Kelly patted her growing baby bump,

"Yep. Oh and just so you know, the freaking minute they're old enough they're coming to stay with Auntie Laurie and Uncle Dean to give their parents a break from the madness."

Uncle Dean.

_Ooh. _I liked the sound of that part. Because Uncle Dean was only a step away from _Daddy_ which did sort of flippy feeling things to my heart. Not that the two of us were even_ close_ to having children. I mean, we were still a couple of idiot newlyweds, who liked having sex in the middle of the daytime on a totally naked mattress in the middle of our room and, evidently, with the front door wide open.

I could still taste his lips and the chill of his chewing gum and I could feel his package pressed low against my hip and his big hot hands tracing over my –

"Laurie?"

"Huh? I wasn't thinking about sex," I blurted out, making it clear that I absolutely had been. Kelly blinked

"Uh, okay sweetie. That's good to know. But what I _said_ was does Dean need any help in the kitchen?"

_Oh_.

I blushed,

"Um. Not sure, I'll go check. You two stay here and make yourselves comfy on, um – ," I faltered, "Um, on a box. Except _ooh_ not that one, because that one has the china and that one has all of Dean's wrestling stuff and _that_ one over there has – ,"

"We'll stand thank you sweetie."

I nodded,

"Good choice. Be back in a tick."

My husband, as it turned out when I dashed into the kitchen, was stood beside our brand new island rooting helplessly through a box, but clinging onto something which he held up towards me as he spotted me coming.

"Princess?"

"Mmhmm," I grinned back, because crud he was cute. Oh and also because I loved him.

"What in the name of John Cena is this? Because these bristles here say back scratcher or somethin' but _this_ end," he flipped it over to reveal a scalloped point, which he clearly was having a whole range of thoughts over, "This end says like, _sex toy_ or some shit. I mean what the fuck are you keepin' in our kitchen?"

"A potato brush."

"Oh," Dean crumpled his brow, before pausing and frowning in heavy suspicion, "You sure about that?"

I nodded,

"Uh huh. I mean unless I was in the wrong aisle in Ikea, because I _thought _that pink egg timer looked kind of weird."

"Hmm," Dean tipped his head back and chuckled at that one. His gruff chuckle. The cute one that lit up his face and made him bite on the tip of his tongue again, which brought out his dimples –

_Ugh._

I surged across the space, knocking him backwards right into the island as I launched onto my tiptoes and assaulted his lips. Because frankly it seemed criminal _not_ to be kissing them and after all, I was nothing if not a stickler for the law. In response, he grunted but then responded pretty rapidly, by palming his big warm hands over my hips and then pulling our groins a little closer together so that we broke away panting.

"Whoa. The fuck was _that_ for?"

I shrugged,

"No reason. I just really, really love you. I mean, because you let me move back to my hometown_ and_ because you put up with my best friend walking in on us and – ,"

"Princess,"

"Wha – ,"

Dean kissed me again but grinning this time which made it seem sooo much hotter as he chuckled deliciously into my mouth. Oh god. I fisted my fingers in his shirt front and then squeaked as he suddenly lifted me up and spun me around to drop me down on our new marble counter, never breaking the heavy petting and the frantic clashing of our lips. Operation _Make Love in the New House_ was back on again.

Or not.

"Laurie sweetie, Brent and I found some cups and – oh."

Dean and I broke apart like naughty children as my best friend strode into the room holding some mugs and then stopped with a knowing looking grin at our expressions and the way Dean then started to scratch at his neck. I cleared my throat and squeaked,

"Mugs. Perfect."

"But I can always come back if – ,"

"No, no," I blurted out, as back in the entrance the doorbell rang suddenly,

"I'll get it," Brent chirped as Boomer started to bark.

Kelly beamed widely,

"So, who's for champagne then?"

Dean snorted,

"Count me in."

"Uh, Lauren honey?" Brent called out, but I could tell he was smiling and god my head was spinning. Moving house was _really_ hard work, "I think you might want to take a look at who's out here."

"Huh?" I blinked, hopping down off the bench and using my husband's broad shoulders to help me. He slapped my ass,

"_Dean_."

"Princess, this is _not _a potato brush," he grinned as he held his smacking tool up. In response I rolled my eyes in sheer fondness and then flounced from the kitchen, rubbing hard at my butt. There was an elderly lady stood with Brent in the entrance, holding a tea tray of cupcakes in her hand and looking button cute in white pearls and pale lavender,

I gaped at her,

"Lucy?"

Because, sure enough, it was. The sweet little widow and surrogate nana who had lived next door to me and my mom and who _also_ had a massive crush on my husband which, okay, fine, I couldn't really blame her for. She opened her arms and I surged in towards her

"What are you doing here?"

"Well now," she chuckled back, "I could hardly miss my girl and that great big hulking man of hers coming back to town now could I?"

I grinned at her,

"Nope."

Her chunky knit cardigan smelt like peppermint and mothballs and the perfume my mom had given her a few Christmases ago. It was the same one that my mother had worn forever and as it flooded my senses I sniffled a bit. Lucy patted my back then squeezed harder as Brent stole a cupcake,

"She would have been_ so_ very proud."

"I hope so Lucy," I whispered back at her, as Kelly and Dean strolled out of the kitchen with the cups and the champagne. Dean winked at her,

"Heya Luce. Glad you could make it."

"Wait," I blinked, "_You_ invited her?"

"Well, yeah," he shrugged, like it was obvious that he would, "Kinda thought you'd want like, the _whole _gang together for your homecoming deal here."

"Thank you," I bit my lip and then rose up onto my tiptoes to kiss him as he smirked back proudly at me,

"Anytime wife."

Behind us there was a sudden loud whoop of excitement as Brent nudged the cork from the bottle with a pop, which sent Boomer skittering off behind some boxes until Dean called him out and then scritched him on the head. Kelly did the honors handing out the champagne mugs – since we _still_ hadn't figured where we'd packed our darn flutes – then stood just sort of sniffing hers longingly as her husband made the toast,

Aww. Poor pregnant Kel.

"To the new house," Brent chirped, "And most of all to the Ambroses' and Lauren finally coming back home. May they both have a lifetime of happiness in Wisconsin."

"To the new house," Kelly and Lucy chimed back, as Dean pulled me closer with an arm around my shoulder and then clinked our cups together as he murmured his own toast.

Honestly, I liked his better.

Much, _much_ better.

"To you an' me wife."


End file.
